By Jenna V. Wray
Nowhere, U.S.A.
My patched-up knees, your cigarettes,
the mother wound, the fresh regrets—
there’s something gothic in the way
our loveliness is in decay.
We are that gritty, that gas-station pretty,
driving men to cross state lines
& moral ones, the world a ring
we wear in the navel.
Grown up on Wic, we burn quick
as Roman candles; we work
for tips & pass out under
the table; you lost an eye
& we pretended we were pirates.
These asphalt days & nomad
nights, the blisters break,
the bottle spins,
we’re stuck in this town
like two bugs in a light
& just as glamorous.
Jenna V. Wray (née Sumpter) edits for Kelsay Books and The Orchards Poetry Journal. Her work appears in Caesura, New Welsh Review, and elsewhere. A member of the WAY Writing Group in central Arkansas, she’s received multiple 2025 awards from White County Creative Writers, a BFA from the University of Evansville and Harlaxton College, and a much-belated OCD diagnosis. Find her on Instagram/Substack/X @JVSReads.
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