Be My Girlfriend.


Show me how you pray.

I would bring you peppered

Avocados, and baking-powder-

Biscuits every morning.

I would kiss your river-cracked mouth,

Bury my teeth in your shoulder-meat.


I would buy you six packs of Black Butte

Porter and baguette roast beef sandwiches.

We’d take our picnic to the beach,

Throw pumpkin seeds at seagulls.


Be my girlfriend.  Spread your square hands

Across my belly—your long fingers muscled

About the knuckles; daintily nailed and tipped;

Fragrant with ash, steel, and tangerine.


Let me plant your garden with fennel,

Chamomile, sweet potatoes.  Let me

Light the beeswax candles by your bed.


Be my girlfriend.

Help me to fall down and beg.

Help me to thank my feet for aching—

For working so hard to hold me up.





He leaned against the stove,

smiled, and told me “Girl,

I could really fuck your throat.”


I said “I’d prefer it if you didn’t”

and threw up three times

on the walk back home,

woke to little weepy nailmarks

scabbing the meat of my palms.


Gianna Teresa is a California-born poet, essayist, cook, and translator. Her work can be found in The Miramar Poetry Review, Spectrum, Into the Teeth of the Wind, and The Catalyst.