Sarah Jean Grimm

After This, Nothing Happened

                                                                POET {V.O.}
                    I am twelve when no friend of mine drops
                                                                                 a penny
                    on linoleum and the penny draws circles around itself
                    and settles HEADS UP with a sound like bells, which
                    I can still hear sometimes because when I pick up the
                    penny for no friend of mine he cries, you greedy jew, I knew
                    you’d pick that up,
and even Lincoln is laughing at me so
                    I never rescue dropped coins anymore and I’m sure I’ve
                    lost a few dollars by now.

The Westboro Baptist Church hates you because you killed Jesus, but you’re sure Jesus only hated hatred and wasn’t the whole point that He died and this way they get to have God and eat Him too and greet you when you die, no, no, turn around, go to hell, but you don’t believe in hell, so where else can you go but here?

                                                                UNKNOWN {O.S.}
                    where they send you in case of emergency,
                    but not like that time you hid under your desk
                    for a day while whistles accosted your ears.
                    No, that was decades ago, or in another life, we’re not
                    sure. You see, we just switched to a new computer system
                    and all our records are jumbled, but it should only take
                    a few days to sort out.
                                                          Enjoy your stay, okay?


Sarah Jean Grimm holds an MA in English and a BA in English and Classical Languages from Fordham University. Originally from Oceanport, New Jersey, she currently lives in Brooklyn and works for Penguin Random House. Her poems have appeared in The Washington Square Review, NAP, Birdfeast, and Sixth Finch.