Liz Robbins
​

Jenna

One year in The Life
and Pimp Mike takes a few
of us girls to the beach to
celebrate. We don’t have
suits, so we wear our bras
and panties. I keep looking
for signs. The gull on the
boardwalk looks straight
at me, turns away. The sand
goes silent a million miles,
out to the Atlantic that goes
a million more. We trudge
over dunes stuck with long,
dry grass. Mike just picks
a spot, tells us to sit. Froth
caps the waves. I wade in,
looking for signs. The waves
roll over, break, withdraw.
The sun slides back behind
a cloud. When I get out, you
can see through. Mike wants
it for free. The girls hop up
for a walk down the beach,
not looking back, not wanting
to check. I want to laugh
hysterically, go to sleep. I kneel,
bend my head, wait for signs.
Nowhere do we have cream,
a radio, chips. I could get
burned. I could grow lost or
hungry. Late tonight, I’ll
think of Mike’s hand,
gentle on my neck.

---

Family

Pimp Mike tells us girls
             again we’re like a close family. I think we’re more like

a band of secrets that relates by mere proximity, a hostel that takes

care of each other like
             unsolvable problems. We drown out the whispers, the crying,

like a stone wall blocks the sea wind, a wall left with slits and dings

and hollows. With barbs,
             we slice each other’s hearts: the Greeks called it sarcasm,

a tearing of the flesh. We say it’s to keep us all tough, a boon to our

business, but some of us
             secretly like to give or receive pain, what we learned early.

I’m Angela, the white rock, the bright-hard queen, Pimp Mike’s most

righteous hand. I send
             the youngest of us out into the night to find new caves to mine.

Because why not? Why should she be exempt from the work most wet,

most dark, most deep? I’ve
             done it all my life, exiling Christy—my sister, myself—from

home. And when she comes back that first night, there’s no power like
​
mine, her cash limp in my
             hand, and I imagine I can taste the salt on her thighs, her cheeks.

---

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Liz Robbins' fourth collection, Night Swimming, won the 2023 Cold Mountain Press Annual Book Contest (Appalachian State U). Her third collection, Freaked, won the Elixir Press Annual Poetry Award, judged by Bruce Bond; her second collection, Play Button, won the Cider Press Review Book Award, judged by Patricia Smith. Her first collection is Hope, As the World Is a Scorpion Fish (U Nebraska), and her chapbook, Girls Turned Like Dials, won the 8th Annual YellowJacket Press Prize.