Tag: Jules Descoteaux

20s

Written by Jules Descoteaux
Art by Inga Seliverstova

in ur 20s ur supposed to drink &
have sex loudly & party hard til
the sun rises & colors sepia-grey mistakes
vibrant again, then ur supposed to go
to work at ur shitty job & do it all over
again. the hourglass is full of colored confetti &
dyed mixers but i’m 24 now &
the rainbow is fading.

i go home to my husband & walk for 20
minutes on the treadmill & lift 20 lb
weights & drink water til my piss runs clear.
i take 30 minutes to make dinner & shower.
we sit on the couch under blankets with our cat
til bleary eyes can’t focus on the TV in front of us.
y is this our living?

i met my husband at 18 & married at 23. sitting at my big-girl job
feels like life has panned out in 100 shades of grey to match the hair
i found this morning. other 20s slip by in holographic tight tops & micro-minis
out the living room window. their laughs lullaby me to sleep with the cat at my feet.

maybe time should stop
right here right now.
crack the clock
& tip the confetti hourglass so it lays on its side. done being 20
& don’t want to be 30, 40, 50, 60, 70, 80, & 90–
red orange yellow green blue indigo & so violently
it all spills by & god, i wish there was smth to do.

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starfood

Written by Jules Descoteaux
Art by Arina Krasnikova

look at the stars.
there’s a place for you
& it is wonderful.
your hands will find a home
to call a body & your body
will find hands to call home.
these nebulae travel so long
to gaze down at us & wonder
where we are. look back to them–
tell them your name, show your face,
make new friends & welcome them
for dinner sometime, whether or not
they can actually make it,
& make them your best dish
in a big dipper pot when they do.
dream they sit at each corner of each table,
savoring fruits of your labor–
love for them is prominent
in every single bite. they eat so much
they have to unfasten their belt
to make room for more.
follow them back to their own home
& savor their love & light for
it is yours to stuff yourself with.
call it home when there & o,
how wonderful to have a home,
a place to eat starfood & love in the corners.

o, winter

Written by Jules Descoteaux
Art by Maria Orlova

winter tucks us under his blanket again
with hot cocoa & extra pillows. i am not
his biggest fan, yet i thank him, tell him
i like the way the marshmallows float &
the way tree branches bend under his luminescent weight.
he smiles back at me & tells me he likes the
way his cool breath reddens my cheeks &
the clothes we layer in attempts at warmth. i know
what he means because i feel it too. i am fond
of the sweaters & blankets. i am fond of cloudy exhales
smoking out my mouth. i am fond of fireplace-warmth despite
not being fond of winter himself. however each year
he gets a little more bearable, a little more beautiful.
his falling snow becomes a blanket of polar perfection,
freckling the windows & my hair with snowflakes. his smile
draws warmth into it from the air. his ice teeth shimmer
in what little sun there is. every candied word shows itself
in the air. it’s a Hallmark movie ending when i look over things
i used to view as decay– barren trees & no sunlight,
lonesome red & white & gray all over–and find only
new life–icicle teeth happily calling me friend & family
as though he’s dotted my windows for years wherever i’ve gone.
winter stays out from under the blanket but smiles
so i know he’s warm. he watches us sip our cocoa & asks, is it good?
people have told me it can be too bitter, or i am too cold, but i think
warmth is subjective & the sweetness is too. i smile back & say,
o, winter, it’s amazing & so are you.

meditation

Written by Jules Descoteaux
Art by Jill Burrow

i dream for the same reason i breathe
& i dream for the sake of feeling
the air rush through my chest
into my lungs.

i dream & breathe while i dream, shallow
in the river in the garden in my mind. here,
i am surrounded by tulips & sunshine &
butterfly fairy dances.

i dream of my breath glowing through
my chest, illuminating my skin in golden
light & light spreading my sun-lungs open
around my spine like wings.

i dream my diaphanous lungs can lift my form, i can
dance with the butterfly fairies. each breath &
each tulip rooted below drinks the river dry &
we land in revealed rocks.

i dream each rock is a tumbled fear i’ve stumbled
over & slept on previously. each fairy lifts one rock
& i lift ten. we throw them into the sun until they
burst & fairies dance into tulip bedrooms, i into the river dirt
where i breathe & i dream.

self portrait as

Written by Jules Descoteaux
Art by RJ001rock

the bread dough stuck to my fingers
at 7 in the morning, washed down the sink.

my spouse sleeping in our shared bedroom,
dreaming of us & love & no hurt.

the plant on the windowsill that desperately needs sunlight –
we offer it what we can, in spite of our apartment.

the cat we got on july 5, 10 days after our union,
licking her bowl clean from breakfast.

the dandelion rising from the concrete in perfect view of our window,
finding the right place to grow despite the odds.

ode to my lunar lover

Written by Jules Descoteaux
Art by Isandréa Carla

ebb and swell
under your lunar
acquaintance
make me burrow
beneath the wings of your
sweetly slumbering state
draw me in, offer that which
i dream for under the lunar eclipse

shine your light down
drape an opalescent sheet
around shiny dream offerings
you receive under full moons
when you are at your strongest

o, longing,
do you ever crave
for your lunar kiss;
to know what you do
to those you grace?

unsaids

Written by Jules Descoteaux
Art by Kelly

sweet something crawls off your tongue, cascades
over your barbed wire teeth along with the ash
of your disintegrated could-have-beens. it claws
across the floor, pushing away the have-beens
and the should-not-have-beens that you uttered.

the have-beens allow themselves to be pushed
because they know they do not matter anymore,
not after this. the should-not-have-beens fight
to be seen all at once, an aching pit of fallen tears,
red hot and sparking, desperate to know what they mean.

behind your teeth lie the things that matter
the could-have-beens, they are silent. they lie in wait,
under your guard tongue and deep
in your sleeping gut, wishing on every spark for escape.
you have neglected them for too long.
keep neglecting them as they are powerful– they can
draw weapons or draw hearts– they can burn forests,

burn you alive.

sweet tooth

Written by Jules Descoteaux
Art by Madison Inouye

this one is for your shared teeth, crooked, and your smile
which only shows your top teeth you can breathe through
into your gut (which isn’t as big as you think) just to slow

breathe all the bad back out. it’s okay to let go if you’re
tired of the heartache. it’s okay to love outward– put the dishes
in the dishwasher for him after your hands rinse them clean.

they’ll sparkle when they’re out, just like your wisdom teeth,
and the finish will dissolve. you’ve never lived in grief for another
human. you’ve experienced heartache– some say they’re similar when

you watch yourself grow, pour water over your garden bones. sprout
flowers and bloom seeds til harvest season comes. pick your fruit,
squeeze lemonade to embrace the sour, sprinkle salt over the savory,

allow yourself to enjoy the sweet nestled between your crooked teeth.

save the snake

Written by Jules Descoteaux
Art by cottonbro

suck the poison out the wound
then spit it on the hissing snake
until it slithers away. another

snake emerges from the bush.
someone, somewhere, sinks
teeth into flesh that doesn’t
belong to them. marks of the flesh
become marks of the blood and

convert to poison sooner than
it can be drawn out, yet we still try
even despite previous offenses,
to save you, the other serpent–

yet i am the one with your blood
slicked venom on my breath, slithering
as i smile: warping and white. my
tongue stings behind our teeth.