MEGAN LEE - POEMS

Megan Lee is a law student who enjoys writing poetry in her spare time. Her work has appeared in The Big Windows Review, The Blue Moon Literary & Art Review, and Thimble Literary Magazine. 

​So it seems 

​all that matters
is keeping each other warm.
 
The air conditioner was broken
the first time someone told me he loved me.
 
It was over the phone. A lie,
but a kind one. Still, I knew real love was lying downstairs, overheated,
 
trying to keep cool on our living room floor. When my little white dog saw
me, he jumped into my arms,
 
his fur too warm for that summer night.
Beside him, my mother, father, and sister
 
slept. The sweat from their foreheads
swept away by a fan.

Moonlight 
​

​Like a panting beast, the night
is tight on your heels,
 
catching up and forcing your
feet into a run.
 
She will shatter green-glass bottles
on the back of your knees. You will wonder
 
why you are all alone. Wake
up she whispers, she shakes you.
 
You will be scared of her,
and scared of your own breath falling
 
out of you.
Her light will start to kiss you.
You can only look up at the navy sky.
 
 

21 Years of Perfect Obedience 
​

​Mother says don’t be alone
            late at night
when there is too much quiet.
            I like the cold air though I don’t know where I’m going.
 
Mother says to pray, so I lower
                                                my eyes
            & try not to watch
                        him watch me.
            Mother says beware the rabid wolf at the door to your heart.
                                    I let him in anyway.
                                                He said I ate his eyes. Say something spiritual, sensually.
 
The wages of sin is death. I am lost here, but by now it should make sense.
Mother shuts the holy book on my fingers, then presses me to a piano’s keys.
                                                                        I wait for judgment & hum the melody.
 
Gambling is evil, so
            I have to try it at least once.
            I’m perched on a red leather chair, flooded by casino lights.
I watch the gold coins fall
                                    into my hands, but I’m used to holding
                                                            sharp objects.
 
Then, I cover my collarbones,
                                    my knees, & I think
                                                never, never again.
 
 

A Summer in Rome
​

​Rome reminds me of you.
In Piazza Navona, a couple holds hands,
their youth is a fond dream.
They stop each others’ steps with just a look,
content to let all other beauty pass by.
Their reflection blurs in a gelateria’s window, familiar yet foreign
 
at once. This irritation is so foreign,
nothing shocks me, now I’m deluded by you
of all people. I don’t like these thoughts. I would buy
my way out if I could. I hope it is the air of Rome, my hands
overheating on cappuccino cups. I look
at the shine off cobblestones, dream-
 
like in the city’s heat. I dream
of something that I cannot name, an extremely foreign
concept, based on one meaningless look
that has to do with me and not you,
but distaste is not the right word when my hands
cannot even manage the motion of goodbye
 
around you. I know I’m being absurd, by
how I tend to fixate. I just need to find the correct dream
to follow, the one my mother showed me, to keep my hands
busy, to be a good daughter. Still, these foreign
smiles are not easily controlled, and you
are only concerned about how we look.
 
I am unsure where to look,
when it is night and I walk by
the Pantheon, and remember all the things you
have said. I watch children throw toy lights in the air and dream
of hitting stars. I am more like them with you, things I knew, now foreign
to me. Dusk colors and music sounds, my hands
 
reach for light too, nothing falls in. Your hands
fold paper behind your back. I look
to try something new, a foreign
experiment. Set adrift by your relentless optimism, by
your mind. You stroll through the background of my dream
and I do not know what I can say to you.
 
Your hands fall too close to mine, so I say goodbye
with one final look. I dare to dream
you don’t look for foreign faces, your eyes on me and you.
 
 

Secret 
​

​One step forward, a hand on my back,
a charming smile. Seriously, you say to me,
but I don’t bat my eyes for tricks like that.
Let’s dance for a while, use your guile.
I’ll use mine, but not enough
for you to see. Who, me?
 
Seriously, you say to her.
I smirk when I see your profile,
but when you look back I make my eyes shine.
Sweetness smacks me, you take my hands
while I gnash my teeth. Who do you think
I am? I like your style, it’s so clear.
I’ll laugh at the jokes you crack,
but I don’t take you too seriously.