Mayfly Kiss

By Samantha Mackertich

I lick the mayflies from her lips,

let the wings catch in the crooks

of my teeth and buzz until

my tongue is numb. My palate

shapes the word Sophie into a hand-

shake as my name stales—toothpaste

crusted on the sink. I leave her

hanging. She turns on the tap.

She prods the pockets of my throat

with a narrow finger and pinches

my prepared speeches. I beg

her to press harder, snap

the cords, stain my teeth

a rusted, cracked red that bursts

up and out of my veins.

She licks the insects from her lips.

I had thought she would have

waited, but I cannot say that I will.

I let the wings of her mayflies linger

and dissolve into the cuts in my cheeks.

Samantha Mackertich is a junior at Walnut Hill School for the Arts in Natick, MA, and is a creative writing major. She has been published in the Síbliní Art and Literature Journal, attended the Breadloaf Writing Conference in Vermont, and was a finalist for the Helen Creeley Poetry Prize. Her favorite form of poetry is free verse in couplets. She also enjoys writing screenplays, short stories, and plays.