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 Mar 2017 Emma
Jonathan Witte
Nine years and still
we cradle our grief
carefully close,
like groceries
in paper bags.

Eventually the milk
will make its way
into the refrigerator;
the canned goods
will find their home
on pantry shelves.

Most things find
their proper place.

Eventually the hummingbirds
will ricochet against scorched air,
their delicate beaks stabbing
like needles into the feeder filled
with red nectar on the back porch.

Eventually our child
will make her way
back to us. Perhaps.

But I’ve heard
that shooting
****** feels
like being
buried under
an avalanche
of cotton *****.

For now it’s another
week, another month,
another trip to Safeway.

We drive home and wonder
why it is always snowing.
Behind a curtain of snow,
brake lights pulse, turning
the color of cotton candy,
dissolving into ghosts.

And with each turn,
the groceries shift
in the seat behind us.
From the spot where
our daughter used to sit,
there is a rustling sound—

a murmur of words
crossed off yet another list,
a language we’ve budgeted
for but cannot afford to hear.
 Mar 2017 Emma
Cait Harbs
I could never tell
if it scared
or comforted me
every time I looked at you
and thought to myself,
I could so easily love you
forever.


Now, I know
it was both
fear
and warmth
simultaneously.
Love rarely speaks
the word
or.
 Mar 2017 Emma
Olivia A Keaton
Can't you feel the sparks?
Between our hands were fireworks
where are we going?
 Mar 2017 Emma
xmxrgxncy
Layers
 Mar 2017 Emma
xmxrgxncy
Peeling away layer by layer, I'm slowly becoming whole.
Wrapper after wrapper- will someone eat my candy heart when there's nothing left to hide it?
I'm so exposed, so open; the breeze wafts between layers, shaking them loose, and they waft to the ground like leaves.
Will this edifice be strong enough to stand on its own?
Built out of feeble candy cigarettes and held together by pink bubble gum, it's already been chewed up and spit out, more wrappings being formed to protect its' already collapsing structure.
Will it survive?
Will I survive?
**Chomp.
 Mar 2017 Emma
winter sakuras
darling,
(I wrote this just for you)
you don't have to please anybody; trust me, if it had been my way
the only pain you would feel would be beautiful,

when we were all born, we were our own stars
beautiful, vibrant, sparking and alive,
our own visions and lifetimes shining down different pathways of life,

and somehow, we were all innocent
like how when you cradle two different babies' hands together
they don't pull away, they don't prickle with hate or feel any pride,

although we are our own, sometimes the constellations we have with others hold us back,
like how you could love igniting fire but then find yourself
being forced to tread water your whole life,

honey, when you wipe your tears on the backs of your hands
and tell me with a strangled voice how you're so alone,
I will be there to hold you whenever you need me the most,

but I'll catch your tear drops, and stash them away in my warm pocket
I'll tell you that sometimes it's okay to be alone,
for the flashing core of each shining star
has a unique sense of being and life
that only it can understand,

so sometimes I will not be enough for you,
and that's when I'll hand over your crystal tears
so you can turn within, and be there for yourself,

and stars burn out in the end as all things do,
we're not perfect, but that was the wonderful point
and one day we'll have to let go of each other
travelling through eons of space and time before meeting again,

but in the end darling,
you are a star whose image and shine will never fade from my mind,
everything about you is meant to be beautiful;  
your pain,
your solitude,
your tears,

just know darling,
you don't have to please anybody... for you're a real piece,
of the endless starry universe.
something for you, for once. May you shine. <3
 Mar 2017 Emma
xmxrgxncy
Letter # 1
 Mar 2017 Emma
xmxrgxncy
Dearest:

If I could touch you just once, then I'd be whole, I swear.
Sitting here letting youtube shuffle like the muddled thoughts within my mind, you're all that won't dissipate into thin air.
All Time Low, then church tomorrow morning, why won't you leave?
Are you lonely?
Do you need someplace to stay for a while?
Well, my arms and ears are open. Stay here a while.
Rest.
Everyone says "shes an invalid" and "she needs help", but I know it's not true.
Because if she feels half what I feel, all she needs is me.
And I need her more than the breaths I take, the words I write, and the ideas I spout.
One day, we'll be together again, angel, angel, angel. My angel.
My one and only angel.
And I can't wait for the day I can roll over in this same bed where we kissed and see your sleeping eyelashes fluttering admist your sleeping sighs.
I won't be doing much sleeping.
I promise.
 Mar 2017 Emma
Jonathan Witte
Come springtime, when the magnolia
tree exploded in bloom in the backyard
I’d grab the bolt-action .22 from the closet
and call out to my sister to tell her
that after a long winter, it was time.

There were hundreds of them, and for hours
I’d knock those blossoms down while she
darted below the canopy catching every one—
stunned pink birds nesting in her hands.

We never missed, either of us, and when
the bullets and blossoms were gone,
she would laugh and shake the petals
from her hair and brush them from her
bare arms and neck like pastel feathers,
the soft relics of an unexpected snow.
 Mar 2017 Emma
WJ Thompson
T.S. Elliot reminds me that I don't have to rhyme,
Every line,
                  or,
                      be on time, in measure,
Or attitude,
Or make sense,
Or only write when I'm depressed,
Or sad or angry.

Which is good,
Because I, (and I'm not being sarcastic),
honestly feel fine
T.S. Elliot=My favorite poet of all time
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