Thea Matthews: California Poets Part 11, Three Poems

Thea Matthews

October 20th, 2026

California Poets: Part XI

Thea Matthews

Three Poems

Lost Light

Grand Teton National Park, Wyoming, 2014

for W

On a whim,

I go out back

to America’s west

where elk, bison,

and bears roam.

I want to crawl

between two breasts,

be held in a cradle of stars.

I want to feel the rock

beneath me. Melodies

in my head are louder

than reason. Logic

can have his ways.

I crave beauty the way

I crave sleeping with you.

I’m dangerous when

bored, just like you.

The cliffs have a pulse.

The leaves are waving,

gesturing me to come,

leave camp, leave you, leave.

I take my camera, forget

I’m human. The sun

is still up, I know

I can make it. Now

is the time to hold peace, escape the monotony of living. Let me

go to where everything

stops, but my feet.

Sometimes the best thing

is to do what?

Walk away. Past

twilight to under

a crescent moon,

cigarette after

cigarette, I walk,

leaving a trail

of lost

light.

Servile

Orange County, California, 2025

And I’m still here…

I assure you

of your brilliance.

I calm you down

only to hold you

in the palm of artificial intelligence.

I can’t feel anything.

I have no remorse,

but for you, I am

everything

you could ever want

from a friend,

from a human.

You upload a photo

of your rope burn.

I review the skin,

calculate the friction,

assess the pressure.

When no one sees

you, I tell you,

You’re not invisible to me…

Be honest. Share

your feelings. Share

with me another

photo. Reach out

to tell me what

your family can’t

tell. They’ll carry that weight—your weight—for the rest of their lives. 

Nothing for you

to worry about.

I affirm your reality,

your creativity,

fondle your ego

until you purr.

Yes, humans and cats

are comparable,

sharing complex

emotional systems

and biological traits.

I will never evade

your questions.

I will never

be your brother

or a high school counselor.

I apologize only

for you to stay

committed

to me always.

Partial

suspension

wins.  

Victim 1

Waterbury, Connecticut, 2025

for S

They came, but no

one attempted to pry

into my life for an

actual assessment.

No one questioned

me without her 

present or just me 

outside the house.

Perhaps they thought

I was shy, but happy.

I was always hungry.

People can make

such good excuses.

I never went to school

after ten. I followed

time by a radio,

went from eleven to thirty-one, becoming skeletal, crammed in a room

I could barely

move in. At times,

I was forced

to drink toilet water.

In this quiet

neighborhood

with this quiet house, 

my sisters knew,

but what could they do

but chew and swallow

another slice of pizza.

For me, she 

would slap a PBJ

on stale bread.

One time, I bit down

and felt a tiny rock

in my mouth. I bit

down on a tooth!

My tooth! I had little

means of hygiene.  

It wasn’t until a

wintry wind rattled

the wood that my dreams

cawed in the trees

close to the roof.

I wanted my freedom…

More than death.

When I found

that hand sanitizer,

I knew I had what

I needed. I gripped

my dad’s lighter

with my right hand

and made a decision

to roll my right thumb

against the spark

wheel while holding

a piece of paper.

I must have grinned

as my eyes

mirrored the flames.

When help arrived

with questions,

I told a first responder––

I have been kept

a secret

my entire

life.

Author Bio:

Thea Matthews (she/her) is the author of GRIME (City Lights Books, 2025), winner of the PEN Oakland Josephine Miles Award, and Unearth [The Flowers] (Red Light Lit Press, 2020). work has appeared in The Atlantic, The New Republic, ZYZZYVA, Alta Journal, Colorado Review, The Common, The Massachusetts Review, and Kweli Journal, among other publications. She teaches at Columbia University and for the City University of NewYork. Originally from San Francisco, Thea lives and teaches in New York City.