Ginger Ayla
DRINK, ANYWAY, THE LIGHT

There are creatures

adapted to living

so low

in the ocean

they can only survive

in extreme pressure,

any attempt to lift them

causes disintegration,

they lack

the necessary compression

to hold together

scale & organ. I’ve felt that

knee-jerk to long

nights, can’t conceptualize

a life without

a subtle crushing

all the time. How

the baby mouse fears

the color that zapped

its mother, I wave hi

as if to an old friend

to the tin Coors bucket

collecting cigarette butts

outside the door, the joke about

how there’s nothing

to do in winter but

drink, anyway, the light

gambles, pull tabs

& meat raffles, sinking

upward like

a fish in a net

flailing for weak spots

& jackpots, a twelve-pack

of pork chops,

my mom & I hinging on

a bingo number,

red dye of the stamper

staining my fingers, packed

tight by tension, not afraid

of the burnished

surface or loss

of bioluminescence but

that I may fall

swiftly

apart,     disappearing

completely     into

the         unforgiving

ease

---

Ginger Ayla (she/her) is a writer and poet who lives in Trinidad, Colorado. She’s a grantwriter by day and also volunteers as Editor-in-Chief of The Poetry Lab’s Resource Center. Her poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in Phoebe, Grist, Heavy Feather Review, Ghost City Review, Sky Island Journal, and elsewhere.

Read more from Cleaver Magazine’s Issue #44.