• Oona Lulu

Poetry by Jade Lee

Updated: Jun 23, 2021

“If you gave the unemployed street poet 5 dollars and five minutes in 2020,” by Jade Lee

This is the third day I’ve gone without washing my face in the morning,

It’s one of those things, I guess,

Wake up, make your bed, shake the oatmilk, how much is a teaspoon

Of Nescafe exactly

Hold your hands up above the keyboard for a second

To watch your fingers dance without your doing

Straighten the spine, maybe bend over backwards over your chair

and let your jaw drop like an exorcism,

I have thirty seven minutes until my next class, I’ll tell them all

About my day with my mic muted,

Give me another reason to do otherwise–

Shake the oatmilk, maybe I’ll go with tea this time.

Did you know the lengths they used to go to

To see each other back in the day

Build entire railroads, ride horseback for three moons

Just to send a letter, sometimes lifetimes apart

I just had a baby! That’s crazy! Our last cow got the

Sickness, we’re down to our last potato, our family

Hit oil on the farm last Sunday, we’re praying to God, I hope to

See you soon at least once

Before I die

Maybe there’s seven minutes before I go

To learn about vector spaces; math beyond

The dimension of God.

I call the friend I’ve never hugged before and I tell her how

Much I regret not becoming a Youtuber three years ago–

I could’ve had two mortgages by now, Cami! Isn’t


Insane? How are you? How’s your girlfriend? Is it snowing

In New York? Is New York even a real place anymore?

Six feet apart above or below, last week I re-read Anne of Green Gables

And I cried. I bought clothes I won’t wear for the next two years.

Everyone’s telling me how sorry they are that this is

Happening to me, when my life’s just begun,

Did someone die without telling me, did they do it quietly, did they do it

Under the gaze of a spaceman with an MD attached to their chests,

Shake the oatmilk, thirty two ounces of coffee is actually not

Enough caffeine.

And I’ll tell you this: I’m sort of scared to leave my room now, not for

Any physiological reasons, after all, why on earth would

I want to leave? I learned how to do the splits in this room,

Ask myself why I am such a bad person and why I let myself

Get away

With it,

I discovered this thing called a root chakra, and I saw the

Ghost of my aunt standing by my bed a few nights ago.

She told me how sorry she was,

And she meant it with her whole chest,

I can breathe fine. Everything is normal about this.

Mathematicians are often notorious for apologizing.

I ask my professor if we are doing math beyond the dimension

Of God.

He said he didn’t know.

How is it that I’ve typed my own eulogy and divvied up my things,

Forgotten what my own handwriting looks like,

what a year feels like,

I am biding my time. Calling the bluff in the poker game

With the stuffed animals residing on my bed.

After a while, they start to say things to you, things like–with

Their whole chest,

You’ve gone too pale, why not open

A window?