July 16, 2025
Poetry by Meredith Aristone
The Paradox/New York City
If I ever go into spiritual psychosis
Just know it’s not you, it’s the vanity plate
That I saw on my way home from being drunk and hopeless
Though you make me see God in a plethora of ways
I’ve always been a girl of mad superstition
Flip the lucky / pour the salt / burn the paper and pray
Divine timing, poetic precision
It wasn’t an accident that I’m this way
For all the hurt that I grew out of
Screaming matches with the Harlem rain
Coors light in the bathtub
Wet matches on the dirty pavement
Crying on the train
Blue shadow on my face at 3 am
Too tired to stand, imbibing a crumb cake in bed
Before I drift off to a more sacred place
With my one night stand tracing circles on my shoulder
Knowing in the morning we’re gonna part ways
Infinity in my abdomen
Existentialist rosè
I almost couldn’t fathom it
The life of a tweaker
Personal movie theater
I was unhinged and novelistic
No one does it quite like me
Shit faced through the Ivy League
Like a triptych
So cryptic and torn in three
And now I’m praying at the gym
I miss the simplicity of the mountains
dreaming like I’m
beneath you behind the foliage on the water fountain
And the world’s a sculpture garden
Kissing feels like dying
You’re antique yet you’re brand new
And I’ll never stop trying
These days I’m always guilty
An amalgamation of my worst habits
I ditch one for the other
90 days and a key chain rabbit
So I let live and I let die and I lost you for a minute
Got a stupid jack-o’-lantern tatted since I abandoned sinning
But I didn’t, not for real, turns out that I’m still in it
I put something down and I swear that I quit it
But you’re so good at making me finish
Like our love
It’s a paradox
But you’re so hot
Telling me you’re gonna remind me who I belong to