in the same room, I loop Star Trek and you loop Grey’s Anatomy; this is parallel play
By Rebecca Jessen, Zenobia Frost
Published 1 January 2021
there’s a bomb in a man’s chest cavity
and I might just put my hand in there.
before you wake I only answer
to Meredith & Christina & George & Izzie.
in the low-slung jeans pre-smartphone era
they have no idea what’s coming.
there’s no optimism like the start
of an episode. sure we’re dark and twisty
but this rewatch I’ve stopped googling
the ultra-rare illness of the week.
I guess I’m learning how to live
and grieve with my whitecoats.
a quick array of stings
then all the answers. a neat mystery
while you hit reset in the pre-dawn,
sip coffee, up long before I even imagine.
then an episode for every a.m. of the year
but really you’re in it for old friends
on rounds of interchangeable illness
solving for 𝑥 so soothingly. an infusion of pure
routine, no side effects in the blue armchair
of your daybreak bubble where every day
is a beautiful day to save lives. if pulses glitch,
you can always skip to the final frame.
if you miss a frame, it’s imdb’s fault.
mornings are mine so the blue night
is yours to contemplate
finally bursting the Yeager bubble
and buying that signed trading card.
you stay up late into the future
free of life admin and minor choices. tomorrow
I’ll replicate your tea. dimakusi assam. hot.
I wouldn’t go so far as to call myself a Friend
of Desoto but I know things I should never have known
about Captain Janeway & Data & Picard & Seven of Nine.
I assimilate the babble. I’m not a doctor yet—
but I know survival is insufficient.
I want a frictionless future where routine
makes play for an array of anomalies:
wormholes, timeslips, infinite variants
on the humanoid forehead. regimen
and chaos in balance. at night I hallucinate
a future unfettered by decision fatigue.
trivia over administrivia. and frankly?
I’d make a great bridge officer: best in a crisis
and are there even circadian rhythms in space?
there’s hot tea waiting in that nebula
and I might just go to sleep in there.
What topic do you most hope someone will ask you about at a party? Write a poem through the lens of this passion, capturing a slant self-portrait in the niche details that light you up.
Rebecca Jessen and Zenobia Frost
#30in30 writing prompt
Poetry is a doorway. We approached co-writing ‘in the same room’ as a playful way to paint portraits of each other (and ourselves), as poets, partners and neurospicy bois.
Zenobia Frost and Rebecca Jessen
#30in30 #PoetryMonth