Two Poems

by Daniela Olszewska

after yr last abortion, things got a little crazy

i put a firstplace
tangerine in yr wet

t-shirt pocket + we both
received more

than a few credibly
detailed death threats.

a doctoral student
who might be our blood

donor sent us the worst
of it in camp-

fire lingo. flummoxed,
we sexdanced

our way back
to the stegosaurus-

shaped truckstop:
it was high time

we started making
us some dioramas

of our woefully
cognitive goldens.

on the correlation between thumb-sucking + promiscuity

audibly, visibly, i cradle
the right kind of stranger
danger + jump off

the train bound for mississippi.
with surprisingly little
to hide, i snap

at the pheromone
monitor on my wrist until
the magnolia trees fall

back into peripheral.
he assists with the suturing
of the big digit. I'd always

been terrible at telling
the difference between
good, bad touch. even then,

i could tell i was merely
being settled for, on. last assembly,
they announced that everyone—

minus me—was allowed to
put in a guesstimate.
whomever came closest

would win the petri
dishes the nice people
from the institute left behind

in the girls' locker room
where i left before i met
every other first benchmark.

Daniela Olszewska was born in Wroclaw, Poland, grew up in the area known as Chicagoland, and is currently pursuing her MFA at the University of Alabama. She is the author of five chapbooks, including The Twelve Wives of Citizen Jane (Spooky Girlfriend Press, 2010) and Citizen Jane Trains For Many Different Kinds of Careers (horse less press, forthcoming).