Before comedy, Grace wrote and performed poetry. Below are some of those poems, they’re not funny but she likes them.

poems

reflections on others

first published 2021 in 2 Meter Review

I like people who drink craft beer and cheap wine / I like when people aren’t bothered by walking in the rain / and when people have no guilty pleasures just things they enjoy / I like people who flirt / and people who don’t care about staying with a friend of a cousin’s old roommate and always have their couch open to pass on the favor / I like people who believe in fate / and people whose love language is making playlists / I like people who look up directions someplace so you don’t have to / and people who rock climb / and people who stay for dessert / and people who have backpacked but can talk about something other than their backpacking trips / I like when people crouch to talk to kids at their eye level / I like people who send postcards / and people who tip well / and people who always carry their water bottle and chapstick with them / I like people who have green thumbs and good relationships with their siblings / I like people who whistle but can’t keep beat / I like people who like bad movies / I like people who never take out the trash but always remind themselves not to forget / and people who take too many selfies and have a favorite season / and people who always text back even if it’s never on time

other places I’d Rather be on june 1, 2020

first published 2021 in 2 Meter Review

I want to be stuck / beneath someone’s armpit on a crowded L car / during rush hour when I can barely balance / because there isn’t enough room for both my feet to not stand contorted / so I’m mostly standing on my left foot / and we stop for an unknown amount of time / because an unauthorized person is on the tracks / and I won’t moan or roll my eyes / because I can hear the top hat drumming from the douche with the AirPods / and I’ll soak in the heat from the bodies / and their breath / and exasperated sighs / because at least I’m commuting / because at least we’re employed / and at least we’ll be moving / soon. 

I want to be waiting in a crowd / three people deep to buy an overpriced drink / at an overrated bar / where my friends will be overexcited to find eight square inches on a dance floor / to move with each other / and smile at each other / as the perfume mixes with the alcohol / and our sweat tastes like months of loneliness leaving our bodies / and I’ll meet a guy named Brad or Chad or Dick / and go home with him / and have bad sex / because at least I’ll be having sex / and at least afterwards / he’ll wrap an arm around me / and I’ll feel the heartbeat of another soul in bed. 

I want to wait in line / at the DMV where I’ll spend an hour / overhearing Karen talk on the phone to Sheila about what David did at work / and why she needs to get through this line soon to make it to Macy’s / for their buy one get one sale on Marc Jacobs handbags / and I won’t mind the exposure into someone else’s life / and will remind myself of all the other places I have to be too / because at least I’ll have other things to do.

I want to meet someone / who instead of shaking my hand says “I’m a hugger” / and then proceeds to hug me / even though they didn’t ask if I am also a hugger / which I AM NOT / but I wouldn’t even complain / because at least I’m meeting someone new.

I want to call my grandmother / and leave a message / because she is out at church / and having lunch with the ladies / and running errands / and happy / and healthy / and not home.

For the Love of Loneliness

first published 2021 in Lazy Women

I lounge in my underwear and my dishes remain dirty
silence embraces me with a kiss at the door on my way to work and at
night, I cuddle with the hum of the cars outside to keep me company I eat
food straight out of the pan
there’s a box in the corner I never unpacked
my hair sits in the shower drain
my laundry lays scattered across the floor

there are only two towels in the closet
pepper spray next to the front door
a vibrator on my coffee table

and I fix my own sink when it’s leaking
and I change the lightbulb when it goes out
and I’ve cried alone
and I’ve laughed alone
and I love the solitude
the way she never judges
never stares
never leaves

LITTLE MISS BLACK HOLE

first published 2019 in The Write Launch

She hid all these years
aloof, afraid of the camera
knowing it would add ten pounds 
to an already unmeasurable amount of mass

No wonder she kept hidden
in support groups with
Bigfoot and the Lochness
lamenting the exoticization of their image
the fascination with their existence

preferring to linger in stories
and theories
afraid she wouldn’t live up to the awe
of how she took up space
to the wonder of how she did the 
opposite of light up a room
and the beauty in that ability

and she was right
they said it was no big deal
they said it wasn’t that beautiful
but I, say it was stunning
she was stunning
and so were the women behind the camera
the women behind the math behind the camera

I mean look at how far we’ve come
to see new parts of the universe and dare
to call them unmoving
as if beauty is in appearance and not
discovery itself

© 2024, Grace Piotrowski