Victoria Probert

Poems and notes · 2019

things i'd say to your face.

A note file, kept for years, finally read out loud.

A woman lying on a leopard-print bedspread, smoking, an ashtray beside her.

I moved to Chicago after college. With no network. No connections.

And I lived by writing everything down. Every heightened emotion. Every lonely feeling. Kept away in a note file in my phone.

I wrote that shit down and saved it for the day I felt ready to bring those words to life.

Introducing: things i’d say to your face.

Black-and-white photo from behind: hair in a bun, a silver hooded jacket, floral wallpaper.
Black-and-white photo of a woman lying upside down on a sofa, her hair spilling to the floor.
Black-and-white crop of a person in a Slayer T-shirt.
Poem: “when i bought you a toothbrush to keep at my place / it never meant i was trynna trap you / it just disgusts me that / you don’t brush your teeth in the morning / learn to take a hint.”
Poem: “from behind the wheel of an uber / my driver tosses words / over his shoulder / ‘don’t worry about tonight. / tomorrow is already yesterday.’”
Poem: “as he turns on the record player / she lays on the couch / puffing clouds of smoke into the air / she says, / ‘play me something so funky I can smell it’”
Poem: “i’ve sunk into you / like ice / at the bottom of your glass / when you sweat / booze on my sheets / i don’t wash them. / i like fixing problems / but yours aren’t ones you want fixed / so my bedding stays salty / and so do i / because this is exactly / what you expected / from yourself.”
Poem: “Is this how you’d recommend living? / asking for a friend.”
Poem: “sorry if I sent you four-too-many texts / i’m high / and thought about it / for too long.”
Line drawing of a hand with long pointed nails and sparkles.
Pixelated drawing of a cigarette resting in an ashtray.
Black-and-white photo of a bedside table with bottles and a bowl, beside a rumpled bed with leopard-print pillows.
Poem: “i won’t tell my friends / how i wish you’d ask me about myself. / you don’t know my brother’s name / or what college i went to. / i’ll admit / i’m clinging to moments / you don’t remember / like when you sang me to sleep / a passionless pit in your bed / that kept me warm / and in denial.”
Poem: “shit always goes down / when you out here in a state / not meant to be seen”
Poem: “please stop renaming the group texts / i can’t keep track of which one’s the one / i talk shit about you in”
Black-and-white photo of a person in a fur coat sitting in a doorway, head resting on one hand.