UMLÄUT 2020 - THE PANDEMIC ISSUE
WASH
Lauren Ainslie
Teardrops on My Guitar
(After Terrance Hayes)
Taylor Swift,
I too have a reputation.
I don’t care for ukuleles, or nice girls,
or unsalted butter. I watched
my father build a deck out back, all by
Himself.
The wood was raw, and red, painful in the city
air, fleshy under the lazy black flies that blew in with summer.
Be difficult or don’t be difficult. Once
I was neither, and my mom asked me who I thought I was.
I too have teardrops on my guitar,
though it isn’t mine and I strum it listlessly
in a dark bedroom, those taut wires appearing
in my throat with every stroke.
We both started young and generous,
you were beautiful like stock photos
of waterfalls, I was beautiful watching them.
The weather has not decided to be difficult or not difficult,
It blows and chills and burns in the same hour.
Taylor, who do we think we are?
How can we stay living and not be who we used to?
If my bed was a coffin I would stay, and let my memories live in my place.