Sestina
by Raina K. Puels
I was new to the city & an old friend
invited me out. I anxious-smoked some weed,
covered my eyelids in glitter,
tried on 20 all-black outfits, braided my purple
hair, called an Uber, & watched cat
videos in the backseat. At the bar, I saw a cute boy
wearing blue while some dude rambled at me about the bouy-
ancy of his dad’s uncle’s best friend’s
boat—a $20,000, 24-foot Cat-
amaran with 16 sails. I told him I had to pee & weeded
through the crowd to get another g&t. I purpled
when the boy wearing blue turned his glittering
eyes on me. In the morning, our skin glittered
with sweat like it had the night before—& boy!—
was I glad I invited Poet Always Wearing Blue between my purple
sheets. We both regretted that very last french fry (end
of the night indulgence—with mayo) & decided we’d
hang soon. He walked home to feed his cats—
Gladys & Augusteen. Soon, I did that walk to him & the cats
daily, dodging broken glass & sidestepping litter.
From a crack in the sidewalk, a spindly weed
sprouted. I watched as he matured from seedling boy-
hood into a thick-stalked four-foot-tall friend
I named Fred & avoided stomping with my purple
boots. I almost tripped over Fred thinking about the purple
soul of my crush, Tattooed Poet, & his adorable cat—
Tortilla. Poet Always Wearing Blue felt out-glittered
by Tattooed Poet, so I kept quiet about my more-than-friendly
feelings even though Poet Always Wearing Blue & I could kiss other boys
if we talked about it first (we had an agreement)… but we d-
idn’t talk until my crush was as obvious as the bitterweed
between Poet Always Wearing Blue’s teeth. He didn’t purr, pull
me close, but sat across the bed & asked why I lied about the new boy:
conflict avoidance—not a good excuse. The convo cat-
apulted into hours of yelling. Guilt pter-
odactlys tore up my stomach. He didn’t want to be my boyfriend.
I didn’t deserve to call myself polyamorous or have a boyfriend,
so I booked a therapist, slathered my face in purple glitter,
smoked a pound of weed, & adopted Layla Stoner Sparkle Demon—my very own cat.
Image by Quinn Dombrowski
About the Author:
Raina K. Puels is a Co-Editor-in-Chief of Redivider. She leaves a trail of glitter, cat hair, and small purple objects everywhere she goes. You can read her in Essay Daily, The American Literary Review, Queen Mob’s Teahouse, Maudlin House, Occulum, bad pony, and many other places. See her full list of pubs: rainakpuels.com Tweet her: @rainakpuels
