MARGARET SAIGH
Image by Andrea Aidekman
Antigone
my brother watches the scales
shift from his scalp I picked
him after battle
light comes in corners
we cross the dance floor
guests move to music’s slow coil
dressed in mirrors
a notice scrolls on a track
contributions from your heart
are appreciated the words
snap against torsos like
the little red bones
we reach the ragged gum of foyer
drunk men slap biceps
behind vases of birch
branches women breathe
into one another’s throats
the hearts sit on cushions
like large teeth
years ago we saw herons
in a lagoon at least
ten bending in the water
sirens begin drawing us
torsos shine electrical
outlets bloom we cannot see
our reflections on any land
I jam the heart into his chest
shift from his scalp I picked
him after battle
light comes in corners
we cross the dance floor
guests move to music’s slow coil
dressed in mirrors
a notice scrolls on a track
contributions from your heart
are appreciated the words
snap against torsos like
the little red bones
we reach the ragged gum of foyer
drunk men slap biceps
behind vases of birch
branches women breathe
into one another’s throats
the hearts sit on cushions
like large teeth
years ago we saw herons
in a lagoon at least
ten bending in the water
sirens begin drawing us
torsos shine electrical
outlets bloom we cannot see
our reflections on any land
I jam the heart into his chest
Ode to Shirley
Then she and her pin had to lie still
--Anne Carson
Then she and her pin had to lie still
--Anne Carson
PREAMBLE
Shirley, my manager
my rope
industrial plants
making toys and vinyl flooring
were drunk men
running the length of a bar
screaming
"I don’t give a fuck about the environment"
truly, they drained
the run off into Lake Erie
it became a shining chamber
a formaldehyde soaked lung
my Shirley drank from
PRESIDENTIAL MOOD
I pull the ratty dirt
that accumulates on brooms
with ungloved hands
I put bills into the register
president faces peering
at its lock mechanism
lips slighting to the left
Shirley, my manager
hates me she calls me
"lazy bitch"
SHEARS
Shirley retrieves
a third slice of pizza
she bottoms out
pints of ice cream
I stand in a bathroom stall
hating her with the pleasure
of pinching my stomach fat
I used to believe
it could be clipped off
with a scissors
SWEETENER
once I saw her at Walmart
she was examining
a 1000-count box
of Sweet n Low
I didn’t say "hi"
my underwear
slipped up my butt
she did not walk
she ambulated
through the Walmart
simultaneously
glossed and starched
SMOKE BREAK
per shift she smokes
between four and six
Marlboro Reds
it is not a peaceful
pre-bedtime ritual
rather it turns her
breathing sculptural
like the bodies
on the Sistine Chapel ceiling
DAYDREAM
when she was 19
she closed a gas station
three evenings a week
she did not
go out dancing
I imagine she carried a steel bat with her
I hear she is fading
fading
could be
a euphemistic term
for dying
I imagine her
stuffed into a casket
in a lilac shirt
embroidered with flowers
when I die
I hope to get
the slimmest casket ever
and even then
only occupy a quarter
of that silky silky cushion
SECRET
O Shirley, my manager
my rope
you were young once
let’s go to the mirror
clip ourselves
into light poles
Shirley-o-Shirley
I apologize
I treated you
like an arcade game
I know I am unkind
I am classist
I didn’t work very hard
I was concerned
with myself and my camisoles
my vanity is Victorian
I needed a wise man
intervention
to go fuck myself
maybe a country singer
I love how we both love
in venomous
representative
ways
O Shirl, my managing
cruel rope, you embody
every fear
for myself, dying
on minimum wage I wish
I could tell you
sometimes I curl
into my torso
I imagine wings
sprouting
from my spine a lover
stroking
a single rib
beautiful
like every beautiful
last night
Shirley, my manager
my rope
industrial plants
making toys and vinyl flooring
were drunk men
running the length of a bar
screaming
"I don’t give a fuck about the environment"
truly, they drained
the run off into Lake Erie
it became a shining chamber
a formaldehyde soaked lung
my Shirley drank from
PRESIDENTIAL MOOD
I pull the ratty dirt
that accumulates on brooms
with ungloved hands
I put bills into the register
president faces peering
at its lock mechanism
lips slighting to the left
Shirley, my manager
hates me she calls me
"lazy bitch"
SHEARS
Shirley retrieves
a third slice of pizza
she bottoms out
pints of ice cream
I stand in a bathroom stall
hating her with the pleasure
of pinching my stomach fat
I used to believe
it could be clipped off
with a scissors
SWEETENER
once I saw her at Walmart
she was examining
a 1000-count box
of Sweet n Low
I didn’t say "hi"
my underwear
slipped up my butt
she did not walk
she ambulated
through the Walmart
simultaneously
glossed and starched
SMOKE BREAK
per shift she smokes
between four and six
Marlboro Reds
it is not a peaceful
pre-bedtime ritual
rather it turns her
breathing sculptural
like the bodies
on the Sistine Chapel ceiling
DAYDREAM
when she was 19
she closed a gas station
three evenings a week
she did not
go out dancing
I imagine she carried a steel bat with her
I hear she is fading
fading
could be
a euphemistic term
for dying
I imagine her
stuffed into a casket
in a lilac shirt
embroidered with flowers
when I die
I hope to get
the slimmest casket ever
and even then
only occupy a quarter
of that silky silky cushion
SECRET
O Shirley, my manager
my rope
you were young once
let’s go to the mirror
clip ourselves
into light poles
Shirley-o-Shirley
I apologize
I treated you
like an arcade game
I know I am unkind
I am classist
I didn’t work very hard
I was concerned
with myself and my camisoles
my vanity is Victorian
I needed a wise man
intervention
to go fuck myself
maybe a country singer
I love how we both love
in venomous
representative
ways
O Shirl, my managing
cruel rope, you embody
every fear
for myself, dying
on minimum wage I wish
I could tell you
sometimes I curl
into my torso
I imagine wings
sprouting
from my spine a lover
stroking
a single rib
beautiful
like every beautiful
last night
Margaret Saigh (she/her) is a writer living in Chicago, IL. She is a recent graduate of Oberlin College where she studied English and Creative Writing. Her work has previously been published in A Velvet Giant. Find her on Instagram @chillable.red