the office // the after
my office one thousand feet in the sky
is a cube of nothing one thousand
feet in the sky with potted orchids
in the corner that bloom violent
pink twice a year. budget blossoms
because HR says studies show
the presence of plants is soothing
to clients and hey, i like them too.
i’m not complaining, just drinking coffee
metallic-black every faded morning
waiting for the pigeons that shit
daily on my windowsill, flurrying
in gray and green and black and white
and i can’t tell them apart, any more
than they can distinguish me
from every other gravity-defying ape
in this forest of glass—
on long overtime evenings i wonder:
this interchangeability: deliberate?
this soft insistent signaling:
the eggshell walls, fluorescence,
the calculated asymmetry
the caffeine on tap the mirrored
mountain or seashore or rolling gold
quick-shifting plane of the screensaver,
these murmurs get me forgetting
if i was ever given a name—
the air conditioning’s scent is called
mountain evergreen and it smells like nothing
that has ever existed. but on mornings
when i come into the office early
its spice unlatches a sort of truth:
i existed before the falling-apart.
i swear, i remember how
the starlings on the telephone wires
dotted out the notes to some atonal song
and there were fish then, great clouds of them
drifting green-silver through the dark
of the lake and one summer i walked barefoot
in the grassy ditch along a gravel road
until my heels bled, grasshoppers flinging
themselves against my ankles, heat shimmering
off the earth like fish swimming
through the air, red-tailed hawks
watching silent from fence-posts—
these are the things i remember now
when i think back to before they mattered—
there were fruits in the forest then,
salmonberries, pink-blooming plums,
the domed red heads of mushrooms pushing
through the leaf litter and sometimes,
on the luckiest of nights, i’d stand in the air,
just out in the clean evening air,
watch the starlings vortex upwards
in a single inhale.
Esmé Kaplan-Kinsey is a California transplant studying creative writing in Portland, Oregon. Their work appears or is forthcoming in publications such as SmokeLong Quarterly, JMWW, and Gone Lawn. They are a prose reader for VERDANT, a mediocre guitarist, an awe-inspiring procrastinator, and a truly terrible swimmer. They can be found on X/Instagram @esmepromise.