Elizabeth

Elizabeth May 2014

dusk

dip your fingers into stardust
write names across these islands
paint silver against this ocean
relic memoirs of the day
i'll keep painting until those stars
find their way back home

Elizabeth May 2014

perception

old-fashioned letters carved with perception
ink-stained parchment of songbirds and a daydream
i see poems floating from the graveyard
sitting carefully on the mountainside
they barefoot whistle past the sugarcane early
with the sun every morning and i wonder how.
whimsical memories waiting to happen, some
never to hear the song

remember how the sunshine feels in winter.
remember how the flower feels in rain, they
whisper
sometimes i pretend you're sitting next to me
and i realize another summertime memory, so easily
slips out and joins those
never to hear the song
down the mountain path, past the graveyard, and far across the sea

Elizabeth May 2014

pluck

took me by surprise today
saw you woven to the crowds of people
lining the street like rusted metal sheet fencing
downcast eyes
a single lemon-yellow flower it blooms
through the gaps to the suffering house down the street
look again, it wasn't you
it wasn't, it wasn't
missing you more than I can admit, decided
to pluck that yellow flower from its stem next time I pass it by
even with a crowd of people watching, won't phase me
maybe, maybe then I can begin to pluck you from my mind, too

Elizabeth Apr 2014

ordinary

fifteen years young, sat on the bus
burnt oranges, humid plastic seats, jolting and rattling with every bump in the sweltering pavement
told a stranger I wanted to be extraordinary someday
he laughed, ordinary is better, he said, I sat confused
this is extraordinary, he told me, pointed to my smile, I didn't understand
all I ever wanted was to build cathedrals that stretched for miles and miles and light fires on everything bad in this world, give a piece of my heart to the sky, create fireworks that echoed back in the reflection of every curious eye,
I stood before the crowds for too long alone I couldn't see past my wistfulness
the walls started crumbling and the fires spread to the good parts and my heart couldn't handle the feeling of being so alive
not fifteen anymore, I sit on the bus, still
jolting and rattling down the road, I realize it now
those trees stretching to the clouds are cathedrals and lighting fires isn't as effective as a single kind heart, my heart sustained from above, curious eyes have a need to be fixed on something much greater
ordinary is extraordinary, your smile, especially
you just have to look harder, I hope you'll see it too

Elizabeth Apr 2014

violet

sometimes I find myself on the edge of
rocky cliffs and I don't know how I got there in
the shadows of the mountains I caught
a glimpse of who I am and I wonder what
you'd think if I told you how much at
home I feel when rocks from the cliff break
away feed the unsettled ocean waves always
moving I'm on the edge of a rocky cliff with a
handful of violet flowers dropping slowly one by one from
my palms they fall and I wonder
if I could go with them three seconds to the splash because
diving in full force is the only way I know how, the
only way I've ever fallen

Elizabeth Apr 2014

trepidation

it was one of those nights
when the dark finds its way to
wrap itself around you in a blanket of concern
it turns to a vapor that seeps into your skin and bursts
from beneath your eyes and out your fingertips

it’s the wind outside the car window
rushing past while you sit in a daze of
obscurity to the tip-tapping of your
fingers on the keyboard thinking faster than
your brain, scrolling scrolling scrolling through the
pages that don’t really exist
haven’t you ever realized the way the internet
leaves you feeling empty inside the
same empty you felt after skipping meals when
you were young like skipping stones across the lake
always ending in the same middle abyss of springtime when
everything was new and the water was still too cold to touch

flash forward to here you’re in the stillness
darkened and dazed
with a glass of that same cold water sitting
next to you but you’ve forgotten so now it’s
lukewarm and it’ll make you sick, she would tell you
so don’t drink it
but it’s okay, you tell her
you’re too focused on the bright screen blinding your
tired eyes anyway searching for something you can’t
find you just feel empty
darkened and dazed
it was one of those nights

Elizabeth Apr 2014

electric

I hadn't thought about you in such a long time, but today
I saw your name, staring me in the face at the grocery store, cool and suave and confident the way I remember it, I saw you,
standing next to me, staring at the stars, making one of your overused comments about the moon in my hair or the stardust in my eyes, I picked delicate pink flowers from the bush by the science lab, you put them in your pocket, took the picture to memory when your phone camera failed to find me in the dark that night we had to sneak past the library so they wouldn't know
so many things I didn't like about you were thrown into the shadow by your witty personality and adoration of my mind
I called you one night to tell you my mind had changed when it came to the idea of you and I
I could hear you breaking on the other end, that's when something inside of me cracked, but didn't break, not completely, not really
it ended so quickly, left me in a stupor of guilt and regret
I saw you not long after, I wanted to run from you or thank you for saving my life or ignore you completely or hug you the way I used to
but I just kept driving
and that was that
until today when I saw your name, staring me in the face at the grocery store and I wanted to sulk inside or scream at myself or smile in memory or cry at how far apart we've drifted
but I just kept shopping
no longer electric

it's been three years,
and I'm okay with that.