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Emily Pancoast Oct 2012
The only her I know is

trapped

in glass panes

throwing back

sun spun hair

and smouldering ember eyes

pomegranate seed lips

and watermark cheeks


One is enough

she said

staring into her own grey-blue pools

hungering for words handed back

and pressure applied

to long festering cracked wounds
Emily Pancoast Oct 2012
pencil-thin shoulders
mess of dyed blonde hair and fake
strawberry grins
lost in movie ticket stubs stuck
to crowded multi-coloured walls stuffed
bears hidden under bedsprings, pent-up
energy like carbonation in sugary soft drinks
unsteady hands on composed aged shoulders,
unsure feet find their way on moving
slabs cleaning out bright blue backpacks
filled with words forgotten on
pages dried up like pens or discarded acquaintances
discovering heart-shaped cardboard tokens of February
infatuation pure unlike clandestine Friday nights,
pounding nervous with blood in pink seashell ears
Emily Pancoast Oct 2012
In North Carolina I put on my mother’s wedding dress
passed down for four generations
my great-grandmother wore these pearls
now I walk down a petal-littered aisle
to wed the boy whose mother I call ‘Aunt’
Mother sheds only a joyful tear because he is a man and I am a woman

My university demolished a solid stadium
built a new concrete giant in its place
in the middle of a field where we used to lay and watch stars,
where we used to chase each other when it got warm outside
Meanwhile the arts buildings sink further into the ground, forgotten ruins

My grandmother wages war against ink on skin
and offensive words in books
we can’t burn them anymore
but we will lock them out of our libraries
so that the children cannot be corrupted

Old men picket outside free clinics,
demanding that wombs be held sacred
while the children they would save would starve in the streets
and then be sent to battlefields so we can call ourselves peacekeepers

Teachers and students alike label each other with permanent marker
all the while teaching tolerance
and having multi-cultural food day in elementary classrooms

The young run so fast toward the future
filled with shiny new iGadgets
equipped to tear apart the beliefs we thought we held dear
Emily Pancoast Oct 2012
Florida tore us apart with its sticky lies and hot hot días
Benadryllic hazes in which I ceased to play a role in your dreams
I dreamt of dark tall hipsters who loved sandwiches on pan whiter than their skin
A last resort, you called them, and I disagreed

I fought sleep with weighty eyelids, forced you to prop yours up like tiendas
You betrayed me in sleep while I betrayed you in daylight
We both shed bitter tears over regretful pasta dishes,
then decided again to be a juntos (do you know what that means, dark-skinned boy?)

During the days I’d fill boxes de galletas with the remains of an expiring lifestyle,
wondering quietly how much of it would fit into my new brick bedroom
You and I dreamt a juntos, falling asleep to shared breaths in separate beds
Mailing tokens to hold instead of each other, pretending that word-heavy
paper smelled like tú o yo

Always aparte on birthdays, I learned to roll my r’s while
your grandmother cooked you mole
I boiled water for boxed delicacies in pale shades of yellow and brown
You stirred chocolate into glasses and downed them one by one
I looked to Saint James for absolution, but always found him *durmiendo
Emily Pancoast Oct 2012
Dining Hall

The day that Darwin dies
you call me at lunch
surrounded by raucous boys
who would ridicule your tears

Milk

You’re downing a glass
as I sip my wine

Separated by years
and words you don’t know

Our preference in beverage
is the space between us


The Other Side of Mt. Heart Attack

Lullaby redhead croons my fingers bend three at a time choking out two-syllable death trap.

Constellating

Sandwiched between
fresh books
spines not yet cracked

Secretive soulmates
sharing espresso-scented
pecks on strawberry lips

Hush Hush

Hands that aren’t yours
hold back my hair
dampened
tears shed
over words you threw
shattering
showering me with shards
of the way you once felt


Day Long Marriage

Air-conditioned summers
bare skin on leather couches
your hand resting
on blue ruffled *******


Happy New Year

Crouching
behind closet doors

your voice
at once comfort and affront

I’ll forget the words you say
still clutching my phone
wishing it was you


The Other Emily**

Purest form of you and me
Benadryl-induced delusions
refusing sleep
exhausted
warm and doe-eyed
in the glow of your fondness
Emily Pancoast Oct 2012
1.**     Plant yourself in his mind, the smallest, hidden seed,
        slowly growing roots, winding noiselessly round his arteries.
        Begin to sip from his water supply, soak up his minerals
        become another branch of his being.
        Eventually he will cling to your cancerous leaves like your roots cling to his soil.

2.     Send him on a scavenger hunt for the many shards of your heart.
        Forget to give him the map so he stumbles through the coils of your past,
        ankles sliced open by jealous thorns, neck gnawed to bits by unseen insects.
        Grant him a thank-you kiss for bringing them back to you;
        watch him as he’s taping them gently back together.
        Don’t tell him that he is nothing but an aspirin
        swallowed to aid in healing a gunshot wound.

3.     Keep him grasping at your vagueries.
        Withhold comforts of ‘yes’ or ‘no’ even as he shivers in the downpour of your cynicism
        instead slip in and out of his arms like silk sheets.
        As his weak trembling hands try to pin you to reality once more,
        remind him that you blew in like summer, and leaves have begun to rust.

— The End —