November

We don’t like the idea of sinking

needles through our skin—and besides,

being blood sisters is too clichéd,

so we push past the creaky pantry door,

slosh a little red wine into Dixie cups and

have a toast, kneeling on the kitchen floor

with little grains of kitty litter

digging into our shins.

Earlier we wrapped old Halloween costume cloaks

around our shoulders

to add to the solemnity of the night,

but the wine poured too quickly,

so we each have quartered cups full of

fuchsia fall inside our skinnied grasps

with not the slimmest intention

of drinking it all,

and we sip, tilting our heads back

until just a few drops get past our lips.

We force ourselves to swallow,

then gulp water from the tap

to clear out our mouths.

Water dripping down our faces,

we float outside by the lake,

watch moths slam their

tiny bodies against the screen door,

as the remaining wine sops up

the moon and starlight.

Maya Robles wants you to know that time passes “inelegantly, and without your consent.”—Miranda July. She also recommends Ariana Grande’s 2018 album Sweetener.