April Poetry Month (Day 18): Freesia McKee #npm17 #wppoets

headshotFreesia McKee is a working poet. Her words have appeared in the Huffington Post, Gertrude, Painted Bride Quarterly, Burdock, and Sundress Press’s Political Punch. She co-hosts The Subtle Forces, a morning show on Riverwest Radio in which two of Milwaukee’s wittiest, devilish non-men explore a “subtle force” that messes with every aspect of their lives.



Best We Can

The night after the election, my friends and I meet at a bar
to make fliers and signs

of love and support
Not sure what else to do 

One friend says he hasn’t been sober since yesterday
My girlfriend is weeping and painting a banner

Stacks of construction paper and markers
on the tables Everyone asks what they can bring

A man wearing a Make America Great Again
hat enters the bar We try to talk with him His sister says he has the right 

to be here but has been getting mean glances I mean wow
he doesn’t feel welcome in a place where he thought he belonged

The next morning, I sit on the floor of my apartment
in the light taking pictures of all the fliers we made 

My mother has been calling
We search for what to say

Got a Lot of Difficult Problems

it’s okay it’s okay        she said
blank face like a clear sky

she looked at me         plainly
sleeping all wound up

she looked at me plainly all wound up
like every burnt tongue

wherever I found a lesbian
I’d always find more lesbians
so I have always been surrounded by lesbians
lesbian literal and lesbian curiosity

lesbian notebook and lesbian space
lesbian memory and lesbian aesthetic

dipping sort of by myself
in the California hot tub
borrowing Melissa’s suit
which didn’t fit in the legs or chest
one too big and the other too small

it’s okay it’s okay        she said
blank face like a clear sky

she looked at me         plainly
all wound up

I don’t want to go outside, so instead

I clean my old place asking Where’s your extra
room and can I sleep in it Can I tell
the truth that now for months I’ve
wondered if we would say what’s really
going on All these pink lights rise
above the city as I nurse my drink so
Won’t you be my lady or Put
your notice in Lettering
the shelves The flags pull off
Inside the bus I’m waiting
in the nearly empty bar and here’s
my new address Find me in the front room