A memory: my father
angry in Disney World,
his hand cold & damp
around mine as I fly
behind him like a severed rope
through a sea of costumed
families, in a frantic search
for a kiosk, a Coke, anything
to feed his blood. Finally
we find chocolate
which he swallows
without joy,
closes his eyes
and breathes,
presses both hands
on the yellow
counter & hangs
his head & sweats
& breathes
until his hands are dry
and he’s saying sorry
I’m sorry
As my vision wobbled
& bubbled into blackness
I became abstractly aware
of the teeth in my mouth
& even though this is not
what you’re supposed to do
when fainting, I gripped
the counter, desperately
searching for a door back
to my feet. Fireworks
crackled, still
& vibrant, staring
back
Emily Zogbi is a writer from Long Island who earned her MFA in poetry from The New School. Her work has been published in Chronogram, Tinderbox Poetry Journal, RHINO Poetry, Half Mystic, and Ocean State Review, among others. Emily was the recipient of the 2021 Sappho Poetry Prize from Palette Poetry and is a poetry reader for The Adroit Journal. Her debut book of poems, “all the time more than anything,” is forthcoming from Finishing Line Press. She wishes she had been a dancer.
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