i’m not supposed to have a favorite

by Sam Gee


in the book you bought me
about my favorite war, two

nervous armies mumble
introductions on the aegean:

salt, meet air, lung,
meet water, spear,

meet chest, later that night
your dress crumbled in my hands

like papyrus and I felt like
I was bleeding. on my bed

we rewatched my favorite movie,
then shut off the screen, and

you asked where’s light go
when it’s done with us?

history is what we go back to
when we’re tired of inventing.

I can’t delete this one video 
your room, afternoon, sinatra,

you kiss me. the CD spins like
a javelin. maybe it’s not strange

to love a war, maybe it’s strange
to want to go back to one.

Author Biography: Sam Gee is a junior at the South Carolina Governor’s School for the Arts and Humanities. He’s a ramen connoisseur and he sleeps a lot.