biding time until the spring arrives
lightning strikes in the barest of places. twelve pm on a warm april
thursday. clarity, the bag in my mother’s room. clarity, those words
on the computer screen. clarity, slipping white spheres, sipping on
and i thought of that clarity until she said stop. i can’t take it in the
funniest of ways. april bled to the sheets, stained red and it was so
fucking hot. take me away. take me away. call me to the roof and i
and so i dream of driving cars; i dream of twenty-one and hopping
bars and i can’t even drink. i failed my driving test last week and in
april it was august and she left a lifetime over. she came back with
a broken hand.
i thought, i want to do that to you. i have never loved anyone in this
way. in august my hand was bruised, not broken. i ate shrapnel and
white glass in a hospital room. they took me away and put the skin
back on my body.
oh god, never let me love this way again. put me away again. take my
skin again. pull the bones from my fingers. kick me off the roof — all
my insecurities died with me. never tell me i am good at this the way
i am good at biding time.
Grace JoyLynn Anderson is a freshman at University of Minnesota Morris. They write to conceptualize interpretations of the world and their place in it, and can otherwise be found delving into fiber arts and reading fiction. They currently have work published in Blue Marble Review.