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Winter 2023 • Vol. XLV No. 1 Poetry |

The False Beloveds with One Exception (or, Repetition Compulsion) 

Shanghai Sonnet

I cast beloveds. I kill them off, too,
because the muse is mostly a bloodless tool. 
A plot device. Don’t take it personally. 
A device isn’t personal, but my blue wound
plus yours? It could be exquisite in the right 
weather, in the right city. Under a moonless 
Pudong, we drag ourselves into twilight, fresh 
from a club where everyone, decked in neon,
forgets how to read the sky. I love when you
can’t tell if a storm has gone or will soon arrive. 
When the sky refuses dawn. Protests time. 
It rains, and on cue you skid and skin your knee.
You bleed. I neglect it. Neglect to inspect it.
I am young and nothing is sacred yet. 
I cast                                     
mostly                     
Don't take it            
blue      
It could be                       
a           
drag                twilight     
everyone                  
forgets                           when  
a         gone or                
sky                              
rains and      you                          
neglect   Neglect.            
and nothing

Brooklyn Sonnet

You are young and nothing is sacred yet.
Ready to spar, circling the ring, you flirt
with your feet. Gucci kicks. Your dumb face.
You smile like a pink fluorescent sign. I throw left.
I miss. We miss each other. We like Miami
but prefer Manhattan. She’s more dramatic.
We are separated by a river, some bridges.
We make chicken. Mango chutney. We plunge 
into all that is restless. We’re too fast. 
Faster than time. I call you about Venus.
Hottest planet, dense as fuck. And did you know, 
Da Vinci only made, like, fifteen paintings?
I know how much you dig genius and exceptions. 
And someone who breaks a rule to love you.  
nothing is sacred
Ready                                           
your feet                                       
smile like a pink                            
other                    
more             
bridges
chicken                                
all that                    fast
time                         
did you know
like                     
I know                                   
who breaks.                 

Los Angeles Sonnet

In love, the rules are meant to be broken.
In roleplay and foreplay, I break character
and make things as unsexy as possible.
I’m the coy babysitter. You’re the dad.
I ask: How’s it going at the geophysical
mining plant? You struggle to be convincing
as a fake engineer, which has nothing 
to do with our script or this dumb city. 
I read Freud’s book on jokes and analyze 
my need to make a stage of every bit.  
On the 101, a cop pulls me over in a fit
and my hands balloon on the wheel like a Sartre 
play. Like La Nausée. He thinks I’m a wise guy. 
Or worse, only sees the actress before him. 
and                    character
and           things                             
I'm          coy                                     
ask                                             
to be convincing
as                                              
this dumb
book         jokes            
my need                                       
pulls me                 
like     
I'm    wise
Or worse                                                   

Lisbon Sonnet

What is worse than an actress no one believes?
A priest who has to pretend he isn’t who he is.
In the city of hills, yellow light dipping
between begonias, I ask you how you hear God
and once you are sure I’m not mocking you,
you describe a vibration. Kneeling at the altar,
I wonder if you’re in this for femme Jesus,
Catholicism’s gaudy drama, its nudes and thorns.
At night, I eye the Tagus. We talk about
what we must disguise for our families 
to survive. Poet and priest. Our non-futures. 
Our lies. Sometimes we got so angry at our moms.
They would just shrug and sigh. Say: My darling,
Nobody told me how to raise a dark child.
who has to pretend                                
In the city                                                   
I ask                                      God
I'm not mocking        
at the altar
Jesus
gaudy                            nudes                  
We talk about           
our families
Our non-futures
our moms
My darling
Nobody told me                                               

Palermo Sonnet

Nobody tells you how to raise a dark child.
Even Cronus sent his son underwater 
because all origins are first strung in myth 
and bottomless disappointment. In a street 
blackout, we light candles while teenage boys 
break into our house just so we know they can 
enter whenever they want. Nothing is stolen. 
You pour orange rossa and ask what I think 
of your hometown. It feels like a proposal. 
That night, sailing in a wild storm with Icarus 
to our left, you show no fear. You scare men 
and gods and joke all women pay for the sins of 
fathers, even if they aren’t our fathers or sins.
You insist bad weather is a gift. Rain gathers in.
hot to raise a   child

first       in      
disappointment      a      
black        light                                   
we know           
Nothing            
and ask                 
home                                     
in a wild                         
fear               men
pay                      
our fathers            
insist                                                  

Paris Sonnet

Bad weather is a gift. Rain gathers in
Buttes Chaumont where I sink stones into 
pools of mirrored water spotting the park sand. 
I used to beat women, you tell me. 
Your face, open, like a lion. It took me too 
long to realize that people who read Marx can
also beat women. You are rough just once. 
Bruised wrist. We fought on the street.
A child watched under a green awning.
That was the era of violence. And it was
over fast because you knew you were
an experiment. I am your goddamn slum
experiment, you laughed. Your criminal.
No. Just the cruelest person I have loved. 
a gift         gathers
into       
the park       
I used to               you tell me
a lion                    
who read           
once
on the street
under a green               
era                                     
fast                                          
an experiment                                    
experiment                                       
No           the        person I         loved

Philadelphia Sonnet

The cruelest person we love is the first.
In triage, they ask what happened. 
My sister and I sit still, wait for a revelation.
A third, unnamed party is slow to say:
Three punches. Closed fist. Straight to the head.
I lose fifteen pounds in a few months
and everyone says how good I look except
that boy in Paris. The terrible one.
We sat at a bar. Don’t you ever eat?
A poet does not have enough mercy
for all the people who really need it.
I love the word triage because of tri-.
Triangles. Tridents. I fall hard in pairs.
I cast beloveds. I kill them off, too.
first
ask what happened                
wait         a revelation
is slow           
the.          
few months
look         
terrible       
eat
mercy
need    
the word         because           
I fall                       
too

Wandering Sonnet

The cruelest person we love is the first.
Bad weather is a gift. Rain gathers in.
Nobody tells you how to raise a dark child.
What is worse than an actress no one believes?
In love, the rules are meant to be broken.
You are young and nothing is sacred yet.
I cast beloveds. I kill them off, too.
I am a beloved. I keep mine, too.
You are old and everything matters.
In love, there are no rules to begin with.
Everyone is an actress and is to be believed.
There is no such thing as a dark child.
It rarely rains. When it does, it flows.
The first person we love is just that: first.
I cast              I kill


              we drag

      I love            you can't
                                                                                                                  you skid
You bleed    I neglect                                                                      I am

                                                                                                      You are
                                                                                                                                           you flirt

                                                                                                  You smile                       I throw
                                                                                                       I miss   We miss       We like

                                                                                                         We are
                                                                                                  We make                           We plunge
                                                                                                                                       We're
                                                                                                                                I call
                                                                                                                                             you know
                                                                                                       I know you love



                                   I break

I'm                           You are
I ask
                         You struggle

                                                                                            I read

                                                                                   I get
                                         I tell

                               I am

            I ask                                                            you are     I'm
you describe                                                          I wonder    you're
                                                                                                           I eye
We talk                     we must
                                                                              I got                                I tell

                                                                                         we light
                                              we know
                          You pour                                                     I think

you show           You scare
                                                  You insist

                                                                                              I sink
                                                          I used                                       you tell

                          You are                                                         We fought

                    you knew                   I am                                                              you
laughed                                                                         I have

       we love                                                                                             I sit

                                  I lose
               I look                                                               We sat                     you
             eat
                              I love                                                                I fall        I cast
I kill                                            
Photo of Megan Fernandes

Megan Fernandes is a writer living in New York City. Her work has been published in The New Yorker, The American Poetry Review, Ploughshares, Boston Review, Rattle, PANK, The Common, Guernica, and McSweeney’s Internet Tendency, among others. Her most recent book of poetry, Good Boys, was published by Tin House Books in 2020. Her forthcoming poetry collection, I Do Everything I’m Told, also will be published by Tin House Books, in summer 2023. Fernandes is Associate Professor of English and Writer-in-Residence at Lafayette College, where she teaches courses on poetry, environmental writing, and critical theory.

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