by Allison, 17
she is a vital one, a flare of summer sun
fashioned of strength and sweat,
with eyes like wave-washed river stones
and cheeks so red i forget to be ashamed of mine.
but she is a soft thing, gaze gray like dove wings,
skin of sunset, budding rose of tender spring.
she is the motion that catches the eye,
the lodestone, the anchor, sunk deep in my mind.
jasmine breeze and scent of salty sea,
she is the summer rain that falls on me,
and lightning—
unexpectedly.
she is impossibility.
she is the question and the answer,
the electrifying tide that sets my mind alive
with perfect possibility and paralyzing fright—
that maybe i am made to live outside
the lines.
she is truth dredged deep from darkness
and brought before the light.
but if she is a star, she is a sun that burns too bright
because this sky holds tight to twilight,
to its veiled and ink-washed nights.
so she is secret, sealed in silence,
prismatic memory of mine.
with every season that slips by,
more of her vibrance fades to time.
if she must die, she mustn’t smother
like an ember as she hides.
so i will scream into this sky
the truth that blazes, bleeds, alive—
i dream of sunset cheeks,
of jasmine breeze,
of summertime suspended
in her sweet and silver eyes.
Massachusetts, United States
Bridge Ink 