Jess Wolfe

I would like to take you with me. To whatever inundated landscape is closest or best, for some reason. The things determining the “closeness” or “bestness” is why I choose to bring you, because we both agree and I don’t have to teach you, or fluctuate, or wrap my head around some new perspective that intrigues me, or flee the coo coos nest… we just have the same closest and the same bestest code by which we live. I wait… for the day we disagree, and together get to explore the flowering lobotomy of argument.

Here I am going to the fence. You got out of your car, stopped it on the side of the road with that small patch of tall grass, and you stand in the sun taking photos of me on your iPhone. You’ll be weary of getting too close, and I’ll turn front, back and center — showing you all my sides. Which do you like the most, by the way? I’m hoping for a pet on my nose, in that spot I haven’t itched in years, not since they changed grain and I gained that weight percolating near my neck. I’ll push my ass up to the fence, because you didn’t answer when I asked which part you like / I don’t know what you like, and I’m down to experiment, and you’ll take a step back for some reason. You’ll put down the phone, and you’ll look me in the eyes, and I’ll think “this is it.” This is where going up to the fence pays off, where you notice me, touch me, take me in completely. Your boyfriend starts walking his sketchy converse along the top of the fence down the road a bit, practicing his balance, we both turn toward his “woaaaa.” You smile and run over, following in his footsteps, I retreat from the fence, forgetting what I walked up to it for in the first place, and instead wait for the hand to place my shitty meal.

Jess Wolfe is a writer (obviously). To show off her credibility, know that her first book was named a finalist for the changes book prize in 2024. She’ll have a second for you eventually, but in the mean time she’s working in film, using neuroscience to write into brain loops, and trying to turn her feature length script into a play. Her first poem included in the anthology was originally published by Slacker Magazine as part of her essay Communication A-Go-Go.