pyrrhus retires from war

words by Namah Jaggi

illustration by Jennifer Fong Li

“If we are victorious in one more battle with the Romans, we shall be utterly ruined.”

–Plutarch

i love like a broken thermostat. like it has no repercussions, like we have gas to last a lifetime and the winter is invincible.

i promise you i am as warm-blooded as they come.

give me your dirty laundry and i will scrub until i scrub the calluses off of my fingers, air it on the highest wire rack like it is birthday party bunting and dance under its dampness like it’s the first rain of an unquenchable summer.

i am so fucking thirsty i gulp tea right off the kettle, heave as i choke on its sweet warmth and chew the bitter leaves till all that’s left is gum. i feel sick to my core— a saccharine toothache that refuses to dull. maybe all the apple seeds I’ve been swallowing will finally bloom. i swear i am incorrigible, willfully reckless like worn-out sticky notes that were too flimsy to begin with. i spin and spin until I am green, a slot machine sycophant, sick off of hope. i am the queen of hearts and i never ever fold.