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Em Glass Dec 2020
In you grows the fig tree, lush and green
and bold against the sky. The skin
around the fruit is half-hearted; open
it breaks and out spill the stars fully charted,
and there you are pointing, did you see that
falling star? And the leaves rustle as you nudge
everyone and whisper: make a wish.
And everyone does.
Em Glass Dec 2020
What was it about you? It was the moon.
It was how the night was suddenly not
black but purple with light swirling through
like snow, the whole thing glowing all
the yellows and blues Van Gogh ever dreamed of.

It was the sharp intake of air after running
up the tower but just before looking down,
when you feel the space between you
and the ground but have yet to discover it.
It was the confidence of music when you know
which note comes next but are still thrilled to hear it.

It was sitting on the floor with a breakfast pie,
running through a field with a fluttering kite,
being always at the apex of the arc of the swing,
living the aerial view but looking forward
to the wind on the way down.

It was potential energy. Let us take hands
as we run in circles like children in the grass,
me the earth and you the moon, and we pull
each other in as the spinning pushes out
and we balance that way, suspended in space,
gravity’s most natural motion machine,
orbiting instead of falling.
Em Glass Nov 2020
I didn’t need you to look
at someone like me and see
a rattlesnake where your
pillow should be. I didn’t
need to see disgust thrown
down at the feet of one of us,
or to imagine me as something
I’m afraid of, or to slink around
with my belly in the dust.
day 235
Em Glass Nov 2020
You cannot take the coal mine
out of the canary.
But with time watch closely
and I will teach you
how to spell sanctuary.
Vote, I dare you
Em Glass Nov 2020
It’s possible to love someone
beyond their demons. The devil
was an angel and all that. It’s
possible to stay inside and still
be free men. Please just put
down the monster-- that’s
not your hat.
Day 223...
Em Glass Sep 2020
Falling in love?
Falling into the well that is love?
Falling free through space until you hit
the bottom of love?
Gasping for air and rubbing your neck
from the weight of the drop?
Climbing the perimeter of the pit
of love, eyeing the top?
And in a place like that,
what is there to do but try
to climb out, see what you’re made of?
Em Glass Sep 2020
And yet I don’t seem to remember
that anyone wished for District Five
not to have exploded the dam
that lit the Capitol’s lights.
I don’t seem to recall people
buying the tale that the police
were keeping any peace.
We were not given the mirror
to look at ourselves and say
"no, that’s not me."
unironically re-experiencing the Hunger Games trilogy in this the year of our lord 2020
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