Prose
No Kings Today. Content Warning.
I was in the middle of marketing ideas when I had to write about NO KINGS DAY! I have fractures in my spine which keeps me from attending protests. I wrote because I love democracy! Some folks want to say to me "not another one." I LOVE DEMOCRACY!
By Vicki Lawana Trusselli about a year ago in Poets
The Reverse of Remembering
I stepped through a crack in the wind— not a door, not a dream, but something stitched between sighs. The world folded inward, then bloomed in reverse. Rain climbed from soil to sky, pulling forgotten tears from the ground. They shimmered like glass birds mid-flight, each one chirping a memory I didn’t know I had. Time moved backward here. I saw myself un-age— laughter wrinkling out of my eyes, scars sealing like zipper-teeth, grief turning into wonder, then into nothing. Emotions walked the streets— some on fire, some wrapped in velvet, some shivering, naked and raw. I passed a shadow made of rage; it snarled and then wept because I wouldn't look away. Love was a cathedral built of heartbeat stones. I entered through its ribcage gate and knelt beside a version of me who still believed she wasn't enough. I offered her silence. She gave me a flower that bloomed in both hands at once. Everyone I met wore my eyes— but from different lives. The child who danced in dandelions. The liar who meant well. The lover who left. The ghost I pretend I’m not. They spoke in riddles but I understood every word. When I returned, I brought back the scent of old rain, a pocket of laughter from when I didn’t know what pain was, and the name of the part of me I’d buried: Hope. It doesn’t shine. It doesn’t sing. But it waits. And now, so do I.
By Carolina Borgesabout a year ago in Poets
the pride bus
Beauty is around me today because a woman on the bus says so. She says sorry for interrupting and it’s funny how that’s a conversation just the same. I tell her where I work and to ask for me if she comes by and I know her bus stop so it’s okay to share. When she gets off she complains everyone else is too loud (they are) and she’s a stranger so I forgive her. Customers tell me I complement myself and I gladly take credit for it. I say it’s day three without a wash and they differ because they’ll never see me again. It still feels like purpose swims through time because we all like beautiful things. Even when it’s trapped outside our skin. Even when it takes a stranger and the right lighting and it’s okay for me to say because I’ve never been good with performances. Just because I sound different doesn’t mean I am and just because the bus is loud doesn’t mean I can’t make a friend.
By Olivia Dodgeabout a year ago in Poets
