Catherine Wright

Maybe If We Walk To The Coast, There Will Be Enough Oranges For Another Orange Poem About Community, And This Time It Can Have No Men (100 Words).

Woman with campfire burns wears brown boots and nothing else. At sunset, she'll sit criss-cross-applesauce, spreading her vagina. The yeast in it has fermented beer. You'll kneel. 

At sunrise, hungover, you'll walk to a river. You could wear anything besides your boots. You won't. You’ll even take your boots off, cellulite patch on your ass dilating. You might make a weird pile of oyster shells by the river, make eye contact with some big old beast, even find a way to cut your hair off. You won't be thinking about the way your stomach moves. You'll mistake that for enlightenment.

A Cabrera's poetry, fiction and essays have appeared in The New Guard, Brain,Child Magazine, Colere, Acentos Review, The Berkeley Fiction Review, Best Travelers' Tales 2021 Anthology, Mer, Deronda, and other journals. Her short fiction has been nominated for a Pushcart Award and adapted for stage by the Bay Area Word for Word Theater Company. She writes, teaches, dances and ride bikes in San Francisco, but not always in that order.

Catherine Wright is a counseling graduate student based in St. Louis. Her work can be found in The Blood Pudding, Maudlin Houde, A Moment Zine, and a handful of other publications.