Natalie Welber is a poet, playwright, and actor based in Chicago, IL. Her poetry has been recently published or is forthcoming in Sheila-Na-Gig, the Dunes Review, Not Very Quiet, and Fearsome Critters. As a youngest sibling, she feels strongly that Pluto should be returned its planetary status. You can find more at nataliewelber.com

Voyagers

—after Patrick Phillips

All I can do
to keep from imagining
how, in truth, it will be
when one of us is dead

before the other,
is think of the voyagers:
twin spacecraft hurtling
though the vacuum alone,

comms shut down
to save energy;
voyager two cannot know
voyager one still flies before it,

but she feels
the solar wind, rushing
from everywhere
in an eternal embrace.

Poem in which I have decided to not be sad

I am letting the dishes pile up in the sink as performance art
So that when the handyman arrives tomorrow
He can compare the tattered kitchen he passes through
With the pristine room he’s working in
And know that we cleaned just for him

What must it be like for him
To waltz into a room
And fix things,
To replace the radiator knob
And let the warmth back in?

I am letting the dishes pile up in the sink as performance art
In protest of my mayor who I do not like
The pots need to vault over the drying rack last
Or else there won’t be any room for the red-stained stemmed glasses
But in the sink, the pots are sitting waterlogged on top
So nothing can be washed

Don’t you see,
It’s a commentary on gridlock
And bureaucratic policy
For a gallery audience, albeit, of none
But at least I am doing something

I am letting the dishes pile up in the sink as performance art
Because with the radiator broken it is too damn cold
To get out from under the blankets and go about my chores

I am letting the dishes pile up in the sink as performance art
As a way to measure the time it’s been
Since the dating app boy last texted me
With every rosebud-engraved plate
And ketchup stain, he loves me,
He loves me not

I am letting the dishes pile up in the sink as performance art
So I can nightly apologize to my roommate for the mess
I am too old for telling bedtime stories
And I must take what ritual I can get

I am letting the dishes pile up in the sink as performance art
So that when the dating app boy says he doesn’t want to see me anymore
I can leave him behind with the drowned tea leaves and slimy salad green
And pretend to believe him that it was him, not me

I am letting the dishes pile up in the sink as performance art
So that I can masquerade as a butterfly whose calendar is so jam-packed
That I cannot possibly pause to clean today

I am letting the dishes pile up in the sink as performance art
So that I can stay in yesterday’s Oreos-for-breakfast remnants
In yesterday’s could-be-morning
A little longer

I am letting the dishes pile up in the sink as performance art So that I can mope about in today’s has-been afternoon
A little longer

I am letting the dishes pile up in the sink as performance art
Because I tend to let things grow into something bigger than they really are
If you haven’t noticed

I am letting the dishes pile up in the sink as performance art
Because the radiator has been fixed too well
And it is too damn hot to work up a sweat over spilt milk and dulled knives