Nat Geo poster on the exam room ceiling
by Madison Lazenby
This morning, I consider the flamingos, not the overhead light. Wide beaks & lake
nights that smell of shellfish & salt- &-vinegar chips. I consider my toes in red water & fingers
of complaints. The speculum & my love in the waiting room. Fast moving clouds. Highways
& deserts. No more trees, only bush. Dogs on the side of the road. Algae & gasoline
on the surface of a puddle. My palms & wrists. Warm latex. Trash collection teams
in yellow & orange. Gas station cookie dough. Googled symptoms. LinkedIn
notifications. The Lord’s Prayer on billboards. Small pinches. Patellae & pelvises.
Dune buggies. Boardwalks covered in sand & needles. My eyes crusted shut. The sun & all
its radiation. By noon, I’ll have more freckles than I’ll know what to do with—they multiply
like rabbits.
Madison Lazenby (she/her/hers) is a Pushcart Prize-nominated poet raised in Virginia and newly based in Syracuse, NY. She graduated from Hamilton College and has received support from Brooklyn Poets, the Kettle Pond Writers’ Residency, and the Looking Glass Rock Writers’ Conference. Her work has been recognized and published by the Academy of American Poets, Anti-Heroin Chic, Gigantic Sequins, The Passionfruit Review, and Metphrastics. Her chapbook Dirty Kitchen is available through Ghost City Press. She can be found on Instagram and Twitter (not “X”).
