Numb but needy;
nothing matters and yet I’m constantly wanting. The world keeps spinning and my heart keeps pounding and my thoughts keep racing and the pain keeps coming but it has no meaning. In the meadow of golden rose petals I stumble toward you.
I feel the wind rushing through my hair, all the while getting closer to embracing the earth. Back to the solid ground underneath those evergreen grasses, piercing through my flimsy feet like a blade and I cannot catch my breath. I cannot stand. I cannot grow like the branches of those willow trees. I cannot be what they are. Wise and strong, I am weak. Hidden beneath moonlit shadows
I hear her sing a tale beneath the ancient bridge. A melody that brings serenity, yet I can tell is filled with her distress. This girl, my friend with so much life and with such purity, voices everything to me. Her secrets, her troubles and fears become my own. Thy lonely voice and somber tone
Of melancholy words ‘ere spoken To linger here and left alone Amongst dreams thy thoughts have broken Whilst sitting still enduring all The fathoms of thine emptiness Mine own demise in time befall My mourning without recompense Thy earthly form to sever thee From this final mortal coil I can feel my fingers
and the hidden strings tied around each from the second I’m born. the strings are still at first so still in fact that I almost forget they’re there until they start to lightly tug; not enough to move anything really just a friendly tug every so often. in 4th grade when I meet her I
like the moon on the back of your hand when we drive at night your wrists drape over the wheel It smells weird in here, she hears her say,
I can’t figure it out. Her eyes move around the room, curiously seeking out Something to explain the riddle. All day she felt the sadness creeping Through the pores of penetrable skin. Bleakness oozing from the previous night. She could taste it on the pillow. Three violets
whimpered with heads bowed stems entwined. Never touching, never looking at each other as they slowly withered in a cracked vase. I never liked the sun
until I looked in your eyes and I saw that even the fluorescents made a sun rise. I could only imagine what the actual sun would do. Among autumn leaves and winter’s breeze
shines luster in a garden froze. A perfect form without needs, stands a beautiful, tin foil rose. When all around the garden aged whose frailty never shows. For what is time for whom was swaged eternal, tin foil rose? She scribes solemn statements
upon the stones surrounding her. She’s miserable. I can tell by the way she saunters ever so slightly down a corridor of shadows. When sets of eyes are not staring her down, she attempts to erode the silver silhouettes, slightly, as she splashes serenely, slapping the masonry that confines her slender, streamlined body. I found myself looking through the fireworks
at the smoke they left behind. After the prideful colors faded and the sententious bang echoed away the wisps haunted the fairgrounds like the ghost of what never was. And I wondered why I took so long to smell it. Today makes three months since Papá and
Nina went to the city, to speak to El Jefé About the missing cattle in our pasture. Papá was wearing his work boots. Today mamá told me in her soft voice, As she pulled the braids tight on my head, That we must go to the church and see if The shoes are there this time. |
Editorial Staff
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