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 Jan 2013 Lauren Miller
Tom Orr
.Arabic in write to tried I
My mother wasn't having it
The right to left was just too much
It wasn't the squiggly lines as such
And so to her delight, I changed my mind.
"Don't worry Mum, I'll learn Dutch."
Scene 1:
(Periwinkle room, Jigglypuff poster, soft alternative music)
I stomp in,
Niagara Falls streaming
Throw his copy of Pablo Neruda poetry into the trash
And start reading Virginia Woolf
Poetic revolution.
That’ll show him

Scene 2:
(Cafe atmosphere, fading laughter, upbeat music)
Whoa. That guy. Not that one.
The one on the left
Kinda nice, kinda cute
And he laughed at my joke
Jane Austen romances
and Zooey Glass daydreams
fill my waking moments

Scene 3:
(Restaurant, muffled conversations, classical music)
What is he staring at? Who is he staring at?
Oh no awkward conversation gap
Say something,
quick, anything
“The weather is nice tonight, yeah?”
Not that.
But he laughs
Night saved

Scene 4:
(Outside the restaurant, night breezes, car noises)
“That was nice,”
He casually mentions
Yeah. Nice.
Not great. Amazing. Life-altering.
Nice.
The same adjective used to describe the weather
Devoid of meaning.

Scene 5:
(Car, radio on silent, crickets chirping)
“I wanted to give you something”
Hands me,
Oh dear god no,
A copy of Neruda
That ****** Neruda.
Have you seen but a bright lily grow
Before rude hands have touched it?
Have you marked but the fall of snow
Before the soil hath smutched it?
Have you felt the wool of ******,
Or swan's down ever?
Or have smelt o' the bud o' the brier,
Or the nard in the fire?
Or have tasted the bag of the bee?
O so white, O so soft, O so sweet is she!
 Dec 2012 Lauren Miller
Brooklyn
You were the little bird
That taught me how to fly.
That taught me how to love,
And taught me how to cry.

You fixed my broken wings
And I slaved over crafting yours
I thought that with a love like ours,
We'd soar, and soar, and soar.

Until you felt the seasons change,
And flew south to get warm,
I guess I never got the memo,
So I was left in the storm.

Then you came back,
And kissed my lips with a passion I've never known.
And I was pulled right back in,
As if you never left me alone.

Your wing was broken,
And so I helped you mend,
Because I've always been there to take your hits,
Until you're ready to fly again.

You want me to spread my wings
Into your delusional sunset.
But when I chose a different path
You became upset.

My little bird, I live for you
And you have always had my heart,
But you can't stay for very long,
And you leave me torn apart.

So maybe its time to say goodbye,
And we know its never easy,
But how can I make you stay,
If you always end up leaving me?  

So take some of my feathers,
And never let them fall apart,
Pull them out and think of the moments
That it took you to win my heart.

I wish it never had to be this way,
I wish I never had to cry,
But I will keep spreading my wings,
Because I refuse to not fly.
These bristles twinge my hide,
For a second I worry of looking a poor shave.
I chuckle;
No one to impress now, silly.

I look down,
For a second I worry of looking a poor dress.
I chuckle;
Chairs aren't meant for standing,

                                                      ­                                                 I'll fix that,  love.
Eyes of tigress look—
Her gentle ways gone at night,
Sacred and profane.
 Dec 2012 Lauren Miller
Night Owl
Sometimes I wonder why the tears I cry aren’t letters
black and inky to stain my clothes
why my paper skin is not covered in words
like a disease without a cure
or an addiction without help
why stories of princes and poppers do not pour out of me
when someone is brave enough to delve under my cover
why pictures do not cover my face, ink bottles spring from my hands
when they ask for a demonstration
why leather bindings do not make up my home
buckles and ribbons
locking me up tight
since I am made of books
and not flesh and bone.

--Lily
 Dec 2012 Lauren Miller
Night Owl
Her
Upon her back, a smooth mossy boulder rests
An old turtle shell that has not yet lost its aqua blue hue
or the blooming flowers between its cracks

The skin on her slim legs are the color of jean
her feet are soft and padded, much thicker than could be called delicate
they are like puppies feet
the other girl's feet tumble and toddle over one another
clumsy
but she has mastered their bigness

Around her ankles is a woolen strip
creamy white and fluffy
fair and curly like a spaniel's chest
soft as a cloud's skin

her hair is a lion's mane
I have seen it whip and sting when she is angry
but now its floating round her head
in a golden halo
like sun burned wheat
it curves, dips and dives
rippling down her back
blazing

The best part of her
as she turns her head, I catch a glimpse
her eyes
sad, dark moons
fanned with lashes, curling upwards, brushing the lids
they glitter as she moves

If I were to dive into a bottomless pool of chocolate
that still would not be deep enough
If I slid into a smooth black lake rimmed with obsidian stone
that still would not be liquid enough
If I leapt into a ebony panther's fur
that still would not be dark enough
to match those eyes that melt
and freeze
in turn

If there was a golden goose who laid a golden egg
and if a spider delicate as lace spun around it a thin moon dust thread
then placed it inside the black heart of the cruelest duke of old
and took it out after three hundred years
then that might resemble the two scorching molten drops
that were my lovers eyes

--Lily
 Dec 2012 Lauren Miller
Donasia
Is it odd to believe in fairy-tale love?
Is it impossible to achieve it?
If I told you I had found it
Would you believe it?
To me it wouldn't matter,
If you chose to believe me or not,
Because I know and he knows we're special;
Fairy-tale love is what we've got.
Separated by a hundred miles of concrete
And no car to travel the distance,
But he kisses me everyday.
The "how" doesn't make a difference.
We never go to sleep angry
Even if we're up all night
Most of that time's spent reminiscing
Or dreaming of what the future'll be like
Puppy love is what some people call it
But we're not naive to love's pains
We're finding a happily ever after
With whatever pages of it remains.
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