You In January

title taken from a song by The Wonder Years

I bumped into you yesterday
in the new coffee shop by the shore.
I was running a fever, which is probably why I paid
six dollars for a piece of butter cake and offered to share.

We talked about the way the moon wanes
in phases, like it’s blooming in reverse,
and the year I tore out all the pages
from my books and watched them burn.

That was the winter you got high with Joey
in his basement twice a week,
while I was stirring whiskey into tea
so you couldn’t reach me in my sleep.

You said you were grateful for the slice of cake.
I said I hope you suffer every time you hear my name.


Summer at the Chalet

Clouds sagging with the weight of the rain
they have held in all summer.
Bikini top soaked with sweat and Corona,
strings aching to be untied.

Tanned fingers tracing
the slope of your hip.
Cedar and booze clipping
through the heat.

Drunken bodies splayed
out across the carpet like streaks
of steam on the upstairs mirror.

You’re standing on the deck
mixing a cup of Arnold Palmer
and Jack Daniels with the tip of your finger,
watching him through the glass door.

The moon melts
down to an iridescent mud.


Jordan Gakle is a senior at Central Michigan University, where she is studying English Education, History, and Creative Writing.