i love poniescoming soon.
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anonymousAnonymousanonymous
1. A suitcase's lip laid mid-word and
open, the anatomy of a wardrobe
spilling over edges – still leftover from weeks before
2. A desk undone among signs of life: a pair of reading glasses
and dog-eared novels toppled
across crosswords unfinished
3. A refrigerator keeping fresh only what is no longer wanted,
the bulb dead days ago
but yet to be noticed
4. A photograph of a girl forgotten hanging by a single corner,
the always-motion of
falling finally captured
by ~desaparecidita
lostI have long since forgotten the foreign rooms and strangers. Even thislost
seems a story to be recited
by heart, though never have I seen
this hairline so near, smelled its every
twiney nest, loved you before.
But this is a wick I have kept lit for so long, I must know it with closed eyes by now; you are a familiar tale I
tell myself, some nights.
Language we've left behind, mapped borders
erased, but now I wake in a
snowy place whose shape
I do not know.
by ~desaparecidita
foundA flighty thing, a fragile, hollow-boned and tiny thing. Soft-feathered little bird, tender enough to fit in single words and disappear, to fit in palms alone. These out-of-sight times, when briefly she is gone from here, when briefly she is only heard against a blue and black and starred ghost world, all that is left of her is a weightless song.found
But within cupped hands she doesn’t flutter, and instead, is still. She is a waiting thing,
now, is a thing so full of patient coos. Here, in warmth, where light seeps modestly in,
is a pair of calmed and beautiful white
by ~desaparecidita
deliveranceThere is a child waiting in the great hall of this church. In here, the words "awake," "asleep"deliverance
remain inconsequential; "second," "minute"
and "hour" seem more pertinent although
no clocks are hung on these walls. "Time" is a mere truth in this place. The sun does not divulge it—but the child's pulse, the beat flickering
among the candlelight.
For now, the child prays on knees before
the altar: a final recitation of verse, last sweet and humming song preceding descent. Perhaps when older, faith will have lost its way to eyes and ears, to tongue and cheek. But
by ~desaparecidita
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