“3 pm on a Tuesday & I’ll bite the calendar if it looks at me like that again / with its white squares like lace curtains drawn tight over the windows of a house I’m not good enough to live in I keep misreading the metal signs to BEWARE OF GOD I’m unaccomplished unwanted unaware / unconscious unbelievable unbrushed unforgivable understood I’m made of blue light & split ends / Guilt lines the soles of my shoes & I only know time passes because I’ve clocked enough of it for groceries & another bill’s due / Every so-called morning I wake up in my teenage bedroom with the same voids clawed over me”

— Rhiannon McGavin, from “Resolution,” in Grocery List Poems