March 23, 2012
By Janie.D. BRONZE, Madison, Wisconsin
Janie.D. BRONZE, Madison, Wisconsin
2 articles 0 photos 0 comments

Favorite Quote:
“I have found the paradox, that if you love until it hurts, there can be no more hurt, only more love.” -Mother Teresa

This is how I see you,
these nights we sit and stare at the mirror—

1. Hair the color of the sinking sun,
seeping in the gap between where trees-meet-sky
and clouds-meet-ground; your fingers are branches,
tangled in my ponytail, your mouth a piece of the moon.
They call us the same,

same smile

same laugh

same cold palms
but I trace out the patterns on our fingers,
blow away the dust in your eyes, and
decide that we are too different

for words to say.

2. My palms slick with your sweat,
tastes like salt and love and the light
that pours from your mouth,
those lazy Sundays when I watch you
run sprints around the house,
miles down the highway,
pounding a cathedral with your feet,

size 6

high arch

purple painted nails
a church built of sunset hair and dusty eyes,
ribs wrapped in golden flesh
and the wrists of a child, stone walls and a hollow empty belly,
the smile of a saint and the grin

of a sinner.

3. Your religion of hunger
has never been mine, never made my mouth
a hollow of stars, eating up the world
to spit it back out. I dig my nails into the ground
and let the dirt cut at my skin,
and you reach up and scratch at the sky,
a need too big for me to hold. I know my bones

cage of ribs

wings of clavicles

pebbles of spine
from your silhouette, learn my shoulder blades
when you reach to braid your hair. Maybe I should
save you, but even the specks of dust in your
eyes elude me. They slip along your corneas,
change the reflection in the mirror,
cloud up your pupils

with blind faith.

Similar Articles


This article has 0 comments.


MacMillan Books

Aspiring Writer? Take Our Online Course!