Two Poems By Arnisha Royston

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Instructions on Living Alone

after they delivered the couch. i cried. smelled the rotting pasta. at the top of last 

night’s trash. it reminded me there’s no one. to rot with or die next to. after we’ve

pressed bodies against one another. i stopped cooking. left the dishes in the sink. 

let them pile until glass shattered found its way under the cracked floor. i’ve 

always wondered what it would be like to watch things break and not care about 

cleaning them up. on the way to goodwill. to get rid of good things i can’t bear to

look at any longer. i thought about closing my eyes. maybe the car would keep 

driving if i believed in it long enough. my sister calls before i can. everything

will not be salvaged. like cars. my niece in the back seat of one. i told her mother

she needed a carseat. i cried that day too. it’s good for kids to see you cry sometimes.

i never talk about what it feels like to own something damaged. though i’ve made 

mistakes. caused wreckage while holding my breath and believing. there are too many

pieces and not enough instruction to put this dining room table together. there is a drill.

and a set of screws and black clasps. the box says to not assemble without two people

present. i am going to call the furniture store tomorrow and tell them this is not fair.    

Sunday Dinner Confessionals 

nobody in my family died deep, 

I mean been shot, arrested, sold, or borrowed 

still no reward, just the leftover sorrow.

“surviving is required to eat here”, some

mother yells from the kitchen. please come home.

the returning is always the hardest part. 

just a walk to the store carries a heavy heart, 

death has a way of calling starving bodies 

home. please eat all the food you can; sorry

this fear is a nagging pain no mother

forgets, revives the wet pull of labor.

this house is a loud rumble of peace, 

each mother and son and daughter release 

joy, the kind that comes in the early morning. 

when the mind is still a haze of rotating

dreams. and death is not a cloud of blackness

& dinner is more than a count of attendance. 

everybody is here, 

alive. 

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Arnisha Royston is an emerging poet from Los Angeles. She holds a bachelor’s degree in Literature from UCLA and is currently obtaining an MFA Degree. Arnisha aims to extend the understanding of poetry and its relationship to the African American community through her experience as a writer. Arnisha’s poetry is either featured or forthcoming in Zone 3 Press, Michigan Quarterly Review, Tolsun Books, and SDSU’s Arts Alive to name a few.  

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5 September 2022