As always, I took the sidewalk
along the concrete mixing factory to work
and on the way back
I ate a chocolate chip muffin
and I was thinking about
my dead grandmother
when I saw the brown lump
of marmot torn open,
its small intestine stretched
to the road’s centre line.
I remembered how Mike
used the small intestine
of a preserved frog as a skipping rope
in grade eleven biology,
how in elementary my friends
would sing “Strawberry shortcake,
huckleberry pie! Who will be your sweetie pie!?”
I would trip the rope on “B” for Brandon
Foster, whose cheek I sloppily kissed
before boys became scary
and I wondered if anyone would be romantically
inclined towards me if they knew
the associative trails of my thoughts.
Lauren Marshall is a Canadian writer living in British Columbia. Her poetry has appeared in The Dalhousie Review, The Warren Undergraduate Review, and UBC Okanagan’s Paper Shell anthology. She recently graduated from UBC Okanagan where she received a BA in both Creative Writing and Political Science.