Tag: Taylor Mallay

The Rhythm of the Blues by Taylor Mallay

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The Rhythm of the Blues

She pushes a pink pin
across the table; it reads,
Groupies wanted,
no experience necessary.
I laugh, now knowing
she noticed me, my gaze
going soft over her body
against that steel-stringed guitar,
the bar’s blue lights blessing
the smooth precision
of her steady rhythm.
She smiles, says softly,
Aren’t you just aching
to be taken
by someone like me?
And perhaps it’s the gin
or the way my skin thrums
to the hum of her strumming,
but I breathe in
and open my hand, sighing
the moment her fingers slide
like a long-held note
into mine.

*

Taylor Mallay is a proud Michigander who enjoys tinkering away with poems here and there. Her work has previously appeared in Chestnut Review, The Dewdrop, and West Trade Review, among other publications.

Two Poems by Taylor Mallay

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Hard Water

My mother said we had hard water,
and that was why our fine, ash blonde
locks broke off like lizard tails,
day-by-day settled into a simmering
copper color.

But then
I didn’t mind climbing out
of the tub with knots
at my roots, brass-toned
strands wiry as
a chain link fence.
At 12, that moment
of full, flushed warmth,
head submerged, hearing only
a heartbeat, a breath—
I was sure that was worth
even the slow, dry death
of my prepubescent tresses.

Later, after my stepfather left,
and my mother lost her job,
and all the faucets quit,
my brother and I
would make the trek into town,
bear-hugging big plastic bottles
against our hips.

One by one, we filled them
at a fountain by the park.
Sometimes shrieks of laughter
would float our way, and we’d glance
at each other instead of at the kids
criss-crossing through the monkey bars,
lifting themselves up on the swings
as high as they could,
clouds in their eyes.

But then
winter came,
and the fountains froze.
For a while, I tried leaving
the largest tupperware we had
in the backyard overnight,
praying, please,
give me rain,
give me snow—

the sting of the morning air,
the basin caked with frost,
and me—hurrying to dip my head
in a bucket of slush
before the bus arrived,
my heart in my throat
as I shuffled into school with hair
still slick from the thick
dollar store conditioner
I could never fully rinse.

* 

Following the Tide

We walked the winding path
to the lake in darkness,
cicadas pulsing in the pines above,
flashlight guiding our way.

Peeling off sweat-soaked clothes,
we slid naked into cool black water.
I allowed myself to drift; you pulled me close.
We stayed like that for a while.

When our fingers pruned,
we swam back to shore,
water sliding down our shoulders, hair dripping.
The flashlight cast long shadows behind us—

your hand in my hand,
barefoot in the damp grass,
your steps sure
as I stumbled into sunrise
with you.

*

Taylor Mallay is a Vermont-based Midwesterner who enjoys tinkering away at poems here and there. Her work has previously appeared in The Dewdrop, The Write Launch, and West Trade Review, among other publications.