By Tyler Michaud
the uneasy refrain of my breath fills the modest apartment,
and you search for the words in its mass like rent in the laundry fund.
you’re in the next room, composing yourself. the arrhythmia in your step betrays you,
and I choke down a few sips of your whiskey to distract myself,
though I’m grateful for the moment alone.
I pretend not to notice your return.
instead, I lock my gaze on a pebble near your feet
& torment myself over whether you’ll call me out,
condemn the beads of sweat on my skin, the blush in my cheeks —
or maybe you’ll think I’m pensive — or probably, just unapproachable.
silence is your answer, and so you wait for me to concede.
I understand that there’s no winning, but I’ll reach for the crown to prove a point,
I raise my brow and drag my eyes to meet yours, inch by leaden inch.
armed & ready, my words return to the fight.
you call me callous, maybe you’re right.
Tyler M. Michaud was born and raised in Maine, and he is at peace roaming the lush woods and rocky shorelines of the Pine Tree State. He graduated magna cum laude from the University of Maine at Farmington in 2015 with a B.S. in Secondary English Education and English. Currently, Tyler is working towards an English M.A. at Georgetown University.