Redefining north.
by Lara Egger
Tequila’s ghost reminded me again today
there are never enough nails
in the coffin of poor choices.
The ocean’s unpredictable
because it’s a mirror for the sky.
I swear this purple turtleneck leaned
more crimson on the website—that desire
is a labyrinth, that its logic, of course,
is circular. There’s only so much we can ask
of muscle memory and foreshadowing,
of the couple in the slasher film
pulling over for the hitchhiker, of pheromones
and pinkie swears and sorrow-stringed violins.
What if I’d sprung for an Uber X
instead of saving on a pool?
He said my sixth sense was intoxicating.
What if we nix the GPS?
I’m pretty sure starlight is in that direction.
Roxette topped the charts with “Listen To Your Heart”
but mine’s just some dumb animal
following its nose. All night long, car’s siren
song. Still you never imagine the culprit
is your Honda Civic. The conga
in my head is two Tylenols off tempo.
If the secret to love was chemistry
all my souffles would have risen.
Lara Egger is the author of How to Love Everyone and Almost Get Away with It, which won the Juniper Prize for Poetry (University of Massachusetts Press 2021), and the John C. Zacharis First Book Award. Her poems have appeared, or will soon appear, in Ploughshares, Copper Nickel, The Southern Review, Conduit, Bennington Review, Ninth Letter, The Southeast Review, Verse Daily, and elsewhere. Originally from Adelaide, Australia, Lara now lives in Boston where she co-owns Estragon Tapas Bar. She holds an MFA from the Warren Wilson MFA Program for Writers.