Dear Iris

Lauren Saxon

remember being backstage on Broadway/ how the floor used to tremble/

from trumpets and foot taps/ you used to sip/ on drinks strong as Billie Holiday’s voice/

take the midnight train/ alone/ just to see Times Square light up for your arrival/ you know how

life/ passes by without permission/ you raised a son/ who raised me/ then you’d raise me/

on your shoulders/ high into Florida trees/ whose branches sighed as its grapefruit/ fought gravity

and old age/ my small hands gripped the apparatus/ a slender pole with a basket that enveloped/

your breakfast food/ it bore the gifts of praise/ of pride/ of smiles wide and frequent

still/ I never savored its acidic flavor/ maybe this is why/ watching the hospice nurse fasten straps

beneath your frame/ watching the lift machine/ pluck you/ ripe/ from the confines of your bed/ left

a bitter taste in my mouth/ one much too hard/ to swallow

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Lauren Saxon is a 22 year old poet and mechanical engineer from Cincinnati Ohio. She attends Vanderbilt University, and relies on poetry when elections, church shootings, and police brutality leaves her speechless. Lauren's work is featured or forthcoming in Flypaper Magazine, Empty Mirror, Homology Lit, Nimrod International Journal, and more. She is on staff at Gigantic Sequins, Assistant Editor of Glass: A Journal of Poetry and spends way too much time on twitter (@Lsax_235). Learn more at www.laurenmsaxon.com