Poem of the Week: 10.19.23

"Shots at Sunset"

SHOTS AT SUNSET

by Ricky Novaes de Oliveira

Snap of lovers, for viewers, as self 
	a picture sent by text
Tequila, lime; tongues, twisting
Excuses for a mood left boiling
	words like punches
	stares like carving a heart
Round wounds fighting sand’s seeping
	yet proud of the lines
Inoculation; pill-popper; a crew sorting 
	B-roll, between glances at
	sherbert sky, wondering 
	how sky starts to rust 
Tourists, locals; mothers, children
	one way round about
	blush or sunburn or
Kissing, holding, gazing, among
Sirens, sheets of sea crush 
	under cover of twilight

Away from the view of a hospital window
	a nurse daydreams of home and sleep 
	for sush

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My brain is mushy.

Writing to you from last night (if you’re reading tomorrow). Been grad schooling. Got some great feedback about my poetry—then I wrote this poem and it did everything wrong, again. I need to stop being so sensitive, and I also need to soften my thick skin. Callouses yellow before they peel or get picked.

“Shots at Sunset” considers different angles of a “shot” in the widest sense. What should be a beautiful sunset is consumed, and in creeps the violence of desire and holding on too long. It is beautiful, or at least captures moments that are beautiful—but beauty here is tenuous and hard to take care of, hard to uphold, hard to be true to. The “nurse” was in a line I deleted initially when editing, but I still felt that idea—of caring without entire investment—belonged.

Currently in my writing I am working on being less lyrical (“I”) while still being specific (vocabulary) and intentional (word choice: minimal). I know I’m being cryptic and vague, and I’m tired. My brain starts and stutters when it needs some sleep. Poetry can be a reliable pillow or a drowzy pill: it helps us sleep at night.

Down the hatch, Ricky