Glory Days

A couple of years ago
I learned I fucked a cultish leader
It was really all yoga, you know
Meditation, ice baths–
I think he’s still based in Berlin
I would say it’s worth a visit
but he called me his queen
too many times eating me out
oh and the whole cult-vibe
that was right before I saw Patti Smith
at 6am right in front of Soho House
I thought, maybe I’m saved
maybe I’m hell
in a mini skirt
I’ve got good posure
so good I’m seeing idols
now there she is smoking
in the middle of my walk
of shame. Nobody will believe this!
I’m not sorry I had it all.
I had it all. And more.

One Afternoon in Beaufort

Wearing a steel bikini & a silver dagger
necklace, I’m fresh off the pleasure
carousel. It’s been all I-95.
Cigarettes. Fireworks. Gasoline.
Missed calls. Billboards. Day breaks
finally at the Howard Johnson
somewhere in South Carolina.
I made lingerie out of the lampshade
& turquoise sheets. I was wearing your spit.
I was taking it all. Like a good girl. I was glowing.
We went to KC Mike’s in the shopping center
over. We ate ribs, greens, sweet tea.
We played pool. Best of seven. You won
easy & clawed me something bright to hold
from the crane game. You’re a hard card
to hold, you said as I rode the edge
of your eyes–black rubies. I said nothing.
I tried to look at myself in the mirror
& I only smelled your mustache & the brine
of losing. We got back on the road, past a spring
lake near the Marine base. You played Deftones
& I tried to write a poem. This time, like an apology.

Sara Sturek is a poet, essayist, and educator from New York. She earned her MFA from New York University, where she was honored as a Goldwater Fellow. Her writing has appeared in American Poetry Review, Narrative, Women's Health and Vogue.