in parentheses

Eliza Knopps (They/Them) is a writer and creative who explores what it means to make art and what we learn about ourselves through art. They have been published in a number of literary magazines. They live in Kansas City with their partner and a series of dying houseplants.

Work by E. Knopps has been previously published by In Parentheses.

---

Field of dreams

Laying on picnic benches out in a field,
the night just on the cool side of perfect.
Illuminated by cell phone light and starshine.
Memories unfold of nights before you and I knew each other.
Stories of school and family tumble out
Creating an unbreakable bond  

Over the hill

I thought I’d left you in the past.
The boy I hadn’t seen in ten years
Yet somehow you keep finding me

Like a ghost of a past love, I can’t quite shake
How are you still here waiting for me to come running to you?
When I needed you most you were gone
Nowhere to be seen
But you kept my number all these years

What could you possibly want from me?
I’ve cut ties and you’ve found your way back time and again.
Hopefully, this will be the last time you try to find me. 

Blood Oranges

A sickly sweet orange lies rotting in my kitchen sink
It’s been there for weeks
Stinking up the whole house with its putrid stench
Clogging dreams and destroying hope
Devoid of all that makes it juicy and sweet
A shriveling heap of rind and molding flesh
But there is a way to end its tortured existence
Grab a knife
Any knife will do
Slice it
Break it
Chop it
When it no longer resembles what it was once
Shove it down the drain
Remove the goddamn thing from your sight
Run the water until neither molding flesh nor soggy rind remains
On the silver surface of the sink

Storms

When I was born I laughed at a storm.
Now I feel cursed by them.
Swirling in my mind.
Chasms opening
Thunder crashing

And there’s me
Wondering when I’ll next see the sun.

It peaks in now and then but then is gone.

Could I catch the sun, escape the storms?

I try things to keep the storm at bay

I take my pills,
I call my therapist
I do my mindfulness exercises
But I know what brings the sun out faster

Connection.

And Joy

And childlike wonder.

We don’t get much of any of that these days.

So we plan calls and visits

We smile at strangers through our masks
Hoping they don’t see how much we crave to see them.

Connection is lost when hope diminishes.

Pieces that remain

She speaks to me in fits and starts
The version of you that lives in my mind
The part of you I can’t release

It’s been a couple of years at this point since I last heard from the version of you out in the world
Sometimes I wonder what would be different if I’d stayed

And then I remember how being in your life nearly ended mine
So why do I miss you?

Why do I miss the way your name curls around my tongue?
Or the way your voice lulled me into safety
The security of your arms
The way we’d sing along to the radio in your golden junker
Or make cupcakes in the house that is no longer a home
Dancing around the kitchen singing into wooden spoons
Drinking wine on the floor of a bedroom that’s no longer mine

I’ve been talking to strangers about us in all the years since
In all the little ways you loved me, lost me, and broke me
All the worst and best parts of you and me flood through my mind when I hear certain songs

All the ways you built me
and all the ways you broke my heart

I wish I could reach out and not hate myself for wanting you
I don’t know how to make it through the years without you.

I’ve burnt our letters and donated all the clothing that reminded me of you
Tried to cut every bit of you out of my heart

But you still remain
Just out of reach
Part of me wishes you’d come home but I know we should never speak again.

---