I am the hottest woman in the world
until the hottest woman in the world walks in.
Fingers a menu, orders a drink.
A peaceful transition of power.
Chatting with a man in a crochet hat,
She tells him forty-one. Two jobs.
A custom bowling ball and a Fucking Wimp for a brother.
A condo stressing her out.
Yeah — yeah — but look at us go.
Dabs a napkin after biting grilled cheese.
Reluctantly, a shot with the locals, strangers.
Everyone winces. Says ahh.
Not the night she came for,
but a night only she could have.
She looks at me in my big shirt.
I know what she wants, because I want it too:
Someone else to take her home.
My sisters arrive with that regional accent
stomping on my white oak floors.
I am the smartest person in the photo album.
I earn a marble sheet cake with my name piped in pink.
I have not read a book since language arts.
I have cried at foreign language films.
My mother sells her plasma and spends the money on felt roosters at Kohl's.
In April, I interviewed for a job that would root me on the tall shelf.
How much is grace?
Picture an asterisk every time I speak:
My floors, collapsed, the footnotes.
Kate Catinella's work has appeared in HAD, Peach Mag, Maudlin House, The Nervous Breakdown, and elsewhere. She lives with her cat in Philadelphia, where she co-founded a project called Free Dating Advice. Find her on IG at @katekittenella.
