"sapphics" by Caitlyn Alario
sapphics
m & i wandered the marble pavement
from a bakery to the grocery store,
where we bought a kilo of tzatziki
on accident &
ate yogurt & pita & cucumber
for three weeks before it molded over.
we shared a third-floor apartment
across the street from
a small, trendy bar with a peninsula
of pavement out front for a patio.
all anyone talked about was the crisis,
how athens might not
recover & the rural villages
we visited on weekends might lose what
little remained. still, we studied korai
& amphorae &
the philosophy of men who believed
we were deficient half-lives of themselves.
we discussed potentiality &
actuality
& cultural genocide, the kind that
estranges a people from their thick sense
of being. most nights we spent huddled
by a computer,
watching television that allowed us
to forget who & where we were. on my
birthday, we made orzo in a red wine
reduction & drank
so much cheap ouzo we never made it
to the club. she threw up in a clogged sink
& i scooped the pink soup into the toilet
with my hands. it was
easy to pretend the act repulsed me,
but she laid her head so sweetly in my lap,
flecks of mascara like flecks of ancient
paint stained on her cheeks.
we’d kissed earlier, before the bathroom
& the vomit. we’d sat on the edge
of my bed & she’d taken my face
in her hands. outside
our window, the tiny island had raged
on, populated with screenwriters &
models, tanned, pretty people who laughed &
drank, unaware of
the two girls on the third floor above them
wondering how they could kiss & feel not
so different as they did with boys. there,
above the marble,
the bakery, the grocery store, the bank,
the bus stop, the pharmacy, the town square—
the little world those girls made together
began to erupt.
Photo Credit: Staff