Amy Bobeda

I’m at a party at Dorothea Lasky’s. A napkin on the table says that Tess has a new book out. The napkin becomes a diorama at the Natural History Museum filled with a pool of water. Women float across the water on their bellies reciting poems. The whale wriggles free from the ceiling. The whale plunges into the water. The butler hands me a mason jar with a cracked bottom. I float around Dorothea’s living room leaking red and purple smoothie. One of my students says, “That’s a menstrual poem.” I laugh. The phone rings and someone says there was a mistake with my book contract. I’m getting a $50,000 dollar advance! I spend it on easels and used drop cloths that smell like the freshman dorm. I build a cave with my students. We sit in the cave. One student says, “I haven’t been near this many people in so long, it makes me anxious.” I say, “Me too. My computer has a worm that deleted Microsoft Word. My plants have a parasite. I probably have a virus from my cat that will make me want more cats.” I scratch an itch. My student says, “You should play the lottery.” In the cave that smells like freshman dorms we write a poem. We get in a fight. We do not win the lottery.


Amy Bobeda holds an MFA from the Jack Kerouac School of Disembodied Poetics where she serves as director of the Naropa Writing Center and teachers pedagogy and processed-based art. She’s the author of Red Memory (FlowerSong Press), What Bird Are You? (Finishing Line Press), mi sin manitos (Ethel Press), and a forthcoming project from Spuyten Duyvil. She’s on Twitter @amybobeda.