I Love Juice, I Hate Almost Dying

By Peter Soucy

I have a friend named Guev
he lives in a house with a dirt patch
imprint of a swimming pool
his mom’s been dying for four years

she gave him kombucha starter 
on his birthday, symbiotic organisms 
growing in her memory 
while my brother and his 
girlfriend jumped into our emerald pool 
with Guev, we played soccer
Guev kicked the ball so hard at my head I 
passed out, fell into the water
I remember closing my eyes, everything turning dark
my friends saying, he’s out, but in my head 
it felt like I was faking it
Woke up in my brother’s bed in our shared room

I was in the hospital for two days
now in my house, I shouldn’t get up
there was the girl from my poetry class
then she was my friend Guev, they explained 
to me that they kicked a ball at my head
their gender dripping back-and-forth
I got up. The house was filled with orange light
like someone was about to commit murder

my brother told me I should join him next time
Guev’s mom was there in a wheelchair
Guev cried, why is this so hard, mom
she looked at him and told him to close
his eyes and feel his hand—really feel it 
without touching it, just feel it was there
then his foot in the same way

he did this for an hour
his body produced green ribbons
ribbons ran around his blue eyes
every inch of his body, he froze 
on the living room couch for three days

I tried to catch his tears in my 
kombucha jar, his mom looked at him thrashing 
he nearly fell off the couch, she took 
his head in her hands, it’s so hard 
because you’re still gonna be here
but you can feel me in the ribbons 
from your blue eyes, when you see 
the sunlight shine through the front 
window, the cat stretching out