A Prevett

That is a lovely hat. I would like to be friends with that hat.

I mean it: we could build something
resembling a friendship. I’ve done it before:
the shoes I wore till they died, the burgundy sweater
I wear while writing.

The thrift store skirt that the woman behind the counter
didn’t hesitate to sell to me.

A hat would be easy, instinctual.
I could be buried in a nice hat.

When the last of us here becomes a not-animal, there will be a heaven
for each of us. A tennis-shoe heaven. An elephant-shrew heaven.
Yes, even a cockroach heaven. Or so has been promised to me.

My heaven will be all hats.
All skirts and rain the color of elation.

I cannot go to your heaven. I could not begin to tell you
about your heaven.

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A Prevett (they/them) is the author of the chapbook Still, No Grace (Madhouse Press, 2021). Their recent poetry has appeared in or is forthcoming from West Branch, Fugue, Denver Quarterly and other journals. They are pursuing an MFA in poetry from Georgia State University, where they edit the journal New South. You can find them online at aprevett.com or on Twitter under the handle @a_prevett.