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“Still” and “Close,” Gallery Series
I. Still We were strangers whispering under the silver moonlight of sacred stories seeping through every inch of our bodies. Deep into the night, we felt warmth from the stars above, not the cold drafts. It was new like a translucent shell of an unwritten book, eagerly waiting for the pencil to be held. ~ We were lovers curled up on a yellow picnic blanket under the warm sun, feeling the air thicken with honey. We created our own language, one that only we could understand. It sounded like the waves humming, and the rustling of the pages as the wind brushed by for a moment. ~ We were…
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“Crafting my 21-Year-Old Self,” A Portrait Poem
~~~ Hammering down on the mortal page, creating my double clothed in words. Pockets of invisible light penetrating my skin, exposing ruby jewels: tissues, veins, & blood. I build transparent cabinets, housing my strung together vignettes waiting to be unsealed. I cross out uneven bangs from an unfortunate haircut for long, steady black waves. I paint pensive, brown wrapping themselves around a bouquet of fiction books and prayers. I carve mountainous curves on my rosy lips which grumble & trace the sounds of Ancient Greek. Smearing with crumbly charcoal, I erase Mandarin from the page. I stick my sweet teeth together, the tools in my toolbox that work but can’t…
