by Esmé Kaplan-Kinsey
Dishsoap Quarterly

From the window in the back seat of my mind, I watch the sun
set forever and ever. I say it like this so you can picture it —
a sunset, the most generic spectacularity. Here, I am stealing
zinnias from an old lady’s front yard and here, I am holding back
your hair while you puke yellow into the toilet. I am calling it
truth: my perpetual circles. This may be premature. I have been
on the lookout for coyotes since I heard them dusk-crying as
a child, but when I met one face to face I was afraid. Here’s a
truth: we all remember our own sunset. Cheap trick. I take my
temper out on my thoughts, no one else. I think because I am
afraid. But not to worry, here, I am lighting the joint for you and
saying try not to cough because I’ll feel it, right here in my chest,
and that’s all right, you know I’d cough my stomach right out for
you but who’d want to see that? I often assume the worst and
as a result I am often very sleepy. The coyote was probably far
more afraid of me, but I did not think of this until years later.
Habit makes the heaviest blanket. I always look out the window
when I see the light fading. I have seen so many sunsets you’d
think I’d be bored by now. But look, look, would you look at
that? I’ve never seen something quite like that before.

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Esmé Kaplan-Kinsey is a California transplant residing in Munich, Germany. In their writing, they hope to explore human-nature relation and deconstruct binaries that cast humankind in opposition to the natural world. Their work appears in publications such as Adroit Journal, SmokeLong Quarterly, and the Cincinnati Review.