My mother once carried
a stack of credit cards bound together by hair ties,
storming her way into stores,
pretending we weren't poor.
I’ve never been good at pretending,
though at times I have used language
like a hacked keycard at a fancy hotel,
to briefly access places I couldn’t afford.
I never wanted to be anybody else,
I just wanted entry without shame,
the past is a payment with constant notifications,
the future a rising cost
with less around to weather it.
My mother’s roof is worn down from too many storms.
The place I rent has old vents,
in some rooms we close them down
to keep the heat cost down.
It always feels like the bar is unfairly moving,
the credit score, the number on the scale,
like the world is a fancy hotel that wants you to feel
like you don’t deserve to touch the towels.
I’m tired of the rise and fall.
What I want now is more surefooted,
outmaneuvering the market,
keeping me solid,
costing me nothing,
gathering interest.
© 2022 Kayla Marie Williams
Bio: Kayla Marie Williams has a BA from Oberlin College and an MFA in Creative Writing from Antioch University Los Angeles. She hosts a freeform music show on Mixcloud called Radio Alchemy that received an Accelerator Grant from The Arts Commission of Greater Toledo in 2021. By day she works as a copywriter, by night she writes poems and fiction.
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