Young Writers Society

day twenty-eight

this is a poem about a girl [for once]
and as such will refer to her as a gentle ray of sunlight
filtered down through cloud and canopy,
laid upon the palm like insubstantial matter.

she, too, fades as the time exhales into the twilight.
how lasting may her touch be? and longer even her words -
if i could string together all of the gentle laughter
and the late-night i'm praying for you -
but she drifts away faster, still.

day twenty-nine

this
is how you end a poem
in the middle of
a sentence: back against the wind,
eyes closed when the airplane opens;
you are x thousand feet
off the ground and heart
pounding.

a man shoves you with open palms
and the world
opens its mouth around you.
you recite from half memory

hallowed be thy name.

if you want to stop
mid-sentence
be sure that sentence
is a prayer.

day thirty
finale

god placed you closed-eyed in a field of lavender,
speckled cirrus skin with drops of sunlight; you blush
looking at the portrait of your unclothed body in black ink,
but it is a sweet representation of the nectar on your silver tongue.

i press the pink of cherry blossoms into your cheeks,
carve the angle of your chin from the thorns of rose bushes.
the life in you drifts between graphite sketch and pastel oils -
and i wonder regarding your mind whether the sunlight may splash
through the inky corridors needled into the page. is your mind your god
or your enemy?