FirstFlight 2022: genesis

genesis

FRONT COVER “Help to Breathe” by Angela Liu

jasmine criqui

mirabel hunt

editors-in-chief submission editors

jasmine criqui

mirabel hunt

design editors

anna opalsky

helene gao

jenny han

jerry wu

kathryn reese

jessica yu

caroline hunt

amy ge

adriana hazlett

adviser

mia boardman smith

“Rebirth” by Lisette Kaya

new age by David Erkam, COM by Cormac Cadden

eighteen by Jasmine Criqui

“Untitled” by Natalia Mochernak

preface

After a year of online learning due to the COVID-19 pandemic, the students of TPHS returned to campus and a sense of normalcy. Though our campus is not unfamiliar, nor the routine of classes, it all felt anew somehow. Every step was the first of its own league, in life after a challenge to all we know as constant. But in this ruin, we grieved not the time lost but rather used it to sow the beginnings of a new era : One of togetherness and a willingness to try new things.

Genesis is defined as “the origin or mode of formation of something”. In art and expression, TPHS students formed new foundations in which to guide them into the unknown ahead. Not only that, but through such creations they present to the world what beautiful innovation they have to offer to a world gradually finding its balance. Genesis is an ode to the potential of the future just as it is an ode to what we leave behind.

- TPHS FirstFlight

life on flm

by Kathryn Reese

i’ll keep time. not on my wrist but no my walls fill them up with snapshots of our lives because my memory is a room, a gallery, serving as a relic for all time that I was good once, that i did something. but what’s the point if we’re all just living plagiarized lives, clambering over ourselves to feel something. is it like the movies? is it all you dreamed? fools so caught up in doing it right, we never did much living. just remember at the end of the day when the shadows have grown long and creases line your face, all the flowers smell the same and they never last. but what a notion, to appreciate a pretty thing if only for a time, before the moment’s past.

“Amoeba” by Rasa Nyce

a heart less full

by Olivia Schroeder

A heart less full

Could it be the green foliage that cascades almost everywhere I look?

Could it be the crisp water that envelops my skin?

Or is it just that my heart just feels more full when I’m there?

That smiling feels so incredibly easy.

That my laughter feels so pure.

Because when my lungs fill back up with that desert air, that side of myself slowly vanishes while the tang in the water leaves that miraculously bitter taste in the back of my mouth.

But all I can do is reminisce.

by Rasa Nyce

“verde”

thanatophobia

by Caroline Hunt

i used to be afraid afraid of my human fragility afraid of what i didn’t know.

i remember a story i was told. one of valor and heartbreak. of terror and depth. of a building and of death. and of someone who did everything right and still couldn’t save themself. another, a sunny day strangers and the cruelty of the world. i’m never safe, and a class on how to defend myself. poke them in the eyes! with two fingers quivering in only the presence of a staring dummy, i break down.

my life was a trick. all the times i’d intertwined pinkies with another exhilarated entity. all the drawings. imagining a bright future where families reconcile and vices bear less value than bloodlines. and daughters are enough. all the responsibility on my breaking back, all just to vanish

in a moment. with thousands of buckets surrounding my small feet, teetering on the edge of a monumental tip, and millions of ghosts tugging on my hair, wanting me for their own. it all seems inevitable. years have taught me that this is true. it’s cruel and never fair. yet i’m no longer afraid. i can’t explain it. please don’t ask me to.

the fear the years of terrified anticipation has now revealed to me a more tangible and inescapable fear. one that is more unforgiving. life! life! an absolutely brutal god of the everyday she and her mistakes are a constant intimidation, a continuous terror.

i wish peace and rest to the dead as my brain prepares for another day of life.

“gruh - fee - tee” by Alex Han

by Lucie Babcock

the cemetery is quiet, orderly with hundreds of mossy gravestones lined in impersonal rows old enough to outlast the stain of grief, old enough to become closer to the stone than to life choked with carved words and numbers, trying to hyperbolize a story long left to dust kick the dirtied slush of one, reveal the chipped name Doctor, Scholar, Husband, Inventor, Father a list so long it drips of the edges and into the muddied snow demanding your attention, empty bones still calling for respect not an inch of space left, not an accolade left ungiven on the backMary His Wife

shaky letters, less deep and less prestigious and less a life left to the shade and ground and nothing “jellyfshies” by Jessica Yu

“Wisp” by Amanda Salantino

moon-eyed calf

by Kathryn Reese

i think of how sunflowers turn toward their beloved star with such zeal, as if they know their luck to behold such a thing.

i wonder if cows in their pastures realize they stand under the moon as they graze perhaps only those with a second set of eyes but he was an anomaly, wasn’t he?

do those i see around you recognise their fortune to witness the glow of your face devoid of the miles between?

i can’t help but be green when they’ve got a place in your meadow and not me.

Like ringworms in the plump belly of an unknowing kitten, they feast on me while I survive on crumbs stolen from the rats and the stagnant water from my wrinkled palm, fumbling for a gasp of air with swollen eyes like the parasite I am. All to embrace the slow but certain sleep so often hidden from me.

by Amanda Salatino

“Untitled” by Natalia Mochernak

thoughts on closure

by Kathryn Reese

feeling, i find, is a fickle thing a jumble of comingsandgoings and decisions no longer regretted and spring rain and the weight of your impression

the fog in my head is lifting and now i can see the blue clad details of the end of it all, so few and far between, and it feels like falling—but didn’t it always?

I pray relief from the labyrinth of my roundabout mind, but it’s pointless when we trade suffering and love on borrowed time. and though i seemed to be a burden, you acted afraid of the end. so remind me, which of us wanted worship?

my heart bled for you, of that you can be sure. now i close my eyes to hide what you’ve become,

maybe what you always were. and if it might prove that you were loved, who were you to stop me from bleeding out altogether?

i don’t look at the sky these days;

the moon is new and lost to my eyes. i can only remember nocturnal light in constellations, in the unseen lines that create Orion, subtle afterthoughts of what was once civilized.

i can see the path before me and what i leave behind, and i’ve stopped looking back because the past now lies in remnants: a collection of stars too painful to look at, and someone i thought would care.

so please, remember me as a regret. it’s the last thing that we’ll share.

“Rebirth” by Amy Ge

made of fre

by Mirabel Hunt

when that strange, familiar feeling creeps in looking behind shadows on your street driving in circles scraping sad melodies out of my throat and pouring my hypotheticals down the sewer drain. the sky seems only to get darker and i only seem to grow colder my fingers begin to freeze on the steering wheel and i shrink inside my boots surrendering to the freeze. but somehow on the long winding road scarred with my tire marks, i feel the heat, the fire inside me. i remember i am a girl of fire. without subtlety, i burn bright my hair made of flames and my heart, a bonfire.

and as the fire rises inside, i remember that i blaze through life with thermodynamic grace. hold me like a candlelit flame and i’ll love you forever blow me away and i’ll burn all night i’ll shine bright either way. and who wouldn’t love a girl made of fire?

“Bonfire” by Cormac Cadden

“Emotions or Logic” and “Flower Skull” by Yasmin Parsa

the wait

by Lucie Babcock

It’s been three hours and eight minutes and thirty seconds

The question cloaks the back of my thoughts, barely bearable, but I can’t keep picking it up, can’t keep

desperately into my throat every time I unlocked the

through my skin to my bones. honing down to the cracked screen, lit up on the old countertop. I can’t read it from here, can’t see anything but

blinking at me over dimmed flowers and blue sky. I can’t do anything but let the fear/hope/ fear sweep over me. It’s a cat in a box, it’s a dice rolled out of sight, and I’m caught in the before-and-after, the knowing and notknowing tying my

I take a step forward, then a step back. The pressure hovers over and break and stop but the counter, squinting at the

releasing the tension to the back of my skull again. I still don’t know. I’m

“Thinking” by Grace Flanagan

evelyn

by Amanda Salatino

My name is etched into your rib. You must let me crawl inside the trees of blood that blossom within. Do their roots await my silent tears to grow? I promise not to rot without you.

Street” by Natalia Mochernak

“Lantern

“Robes” by Amy Ge

Roxy stood behind him, leaning her back against the railing that protected the side of the balcony. It was a truly spectacular view, nothing like the window-full hallway, but with the mountains in the distance, the sun just beginning it’s descent in the west, it was still beautiful. However… In her mind, the most beautiful view stood right in front of her.

“Enjoying the party?” Her voice came out a little scratchy, so she cleared her throat and started again. “I mean, are you enjoying her stay at the palace?” When did she become such a nervous wreck? Good grief girl, get it together.

At that moment, the boy in front of her turned around. Maybe jumped a little, considering she had snuck up on him. He looked the same: the same brown, toned muscles, the same deep hazel eyes that beheld all the good in the world-- even if they had borne witness to so many… disasters.

That was her fault.

But his body looked fuller now, thicker, as if he’d had multiple nights of good food and good sleep. His curly hair was combed and gelled back, and she had to admit it looked nice, even if she preferred his typical bouncing, tumbling curls.

“Will you sit with me?”

Their eyes met and the spark was enough to start a fire.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

Laughter rang clean and crisp as they both burst out cackling at their own awkwardness. His smile and the light in his eyes threatened to send her heart fluttering off into the clouds. But in seeing his face she had regained her confidence. Without breaking eye-contact, Roxy smoothed the

the dream

by Alexia Civit

back of her skirts and jumped onto the railing at the edge of the balcony. Logan’s eyes widened in alarm as he took a step forward, as if to prevent her from falling, although they were still many feet apart.

“Will you sit with me?” She repeated.

“Of course.” He was smiling fully now as he plopped down on the railing next to her. Humph. Perhaps a little farther away than she would have liked. She scooted closer to him, till their elbows were touching, if she bent her arm in just the right way. Both their hands were gripped tight on the railing, preventing themselves from falling down, down, down-- almost a full story-- and landing in the shining swimming pool which occupied the terrace below. Roxy couldn’t tell which was more dangerous, the fall, or the way she stopped breathing when she moved to interlock her hand with his. His fingers were calloused, rough at the tips but soft and squishy on the inside. Characteristic of a Runner.

When he didn’t fight her grip, she looked up at him again. Even with all the people around, it felt like she could sink, sink, sink into his forest gaze, lying happily ever after in a clearing within his eyes.

“I need to tell you something,” Logan said softly.

“Me first.” She interrupted. The decisiveness in her own tone startled her a bit, but Logan instinctively reached for her elbow to steady her.

He didn’t remove his hand.

“Roxy,” the way he said her name was like jumping off a building just to realize she could fly, “you are the most incredible girl I have ever met.”

He blushed slightly, his cheeks turning darker, to the color of the black sand off the beaches in the South. But still his eyes remained on hers.

“Not that I’ve met many girls,” he cleared his throat. “I just mean to say that, through everything--”

“You mean the world to me,” Roxy whispered, face burning. “You held me when I was trembling, and you taught me to be stronger. When I ran, you were always by my side, swift as an egret.” She stared into his eyes, pressing into them with her mind, willing him to feel the words, if only he could understand...

“When I…” Her voice almost broke, but it didn’t. Logan gripped his fingers tighter around hers, not in comfort, but in companionship. This was a challenge they would face-- together. The trauma of all that had been done, and done to them.

“Even when I couldn’t run. When I could barely walk, you were my friend, my fire, keeping me warm, keeping me moving forward. I never thought I’d find… a friend like you.”

Logan was everything she could ask for. He was kind and determined and curious, and nowhere would you find a boy more true. And she knew that if she stopped what she was saying now, that’s how things would be. They’d be best friends forever, and she’d be happy.

But Roxy didn’t stop talking then. Because, deep down in her chest, where her heart was aware of every touch between their hands, she knew it wasn’t friendship that had kept her up at night, staring at his sleeping body on

the train. It wasn’t friendship that made her feel this… this pull to him, like a magnet in her gut, ever aware-- even when her brain was not fully conscious of it-- of exactly where he stood in a room.

So it was not from a place of friendship that she said:

“I’m never going to stop being your friend, and you will never stop being mine,” her gaze darted down to where their hands lay clasped, “But… I also would like… I’d like to be more.” Roxy inhaled deeply and looked up at him, her eyes scouring his expression. His face was placid, and where his features were normally an open book, Roxy couldn’t read anything in his expression. Her heart would be beating more slowly if it were a hummingbird.

Then, like a crack in the damn, a smile broke across his face and a real laugh tumbled out.

“I have liked you since the day you tried to throw me off the train with your pocket knife. And every day since then.”

He had never thought he’d hear her say it, those words he’d wanted so badly to believe. It was like a key had been pressed into his palm, and he knew exactly where it fit.

Roxy’s smile was so bright that even the evening sun dimmed its rays to acknowledge another light so powerful.

“Then there’s only one thing left to do.” Roxy lifted up their joined hands and grabbed his other hand in hers, till the only thing keeping them attached to the railing was a thin line of balance.

“GERONIMO!” And with that, Roxy threw her weight over the railing, sending Logan and her toubling over the edge and crashing into the crystal waters of the pool below.

“Dune” by Cormac Cadden

i am both an imposter and a preacher. how can i say i will rise from the ashes, when it is that very dust that killed me the first time? sitting pretty has never been my forte but somehow my ghosts have mastered it in my head. i sprouted from the ground a smiling poppy in a garden watered with ethanol light me on fire and watch me burn, i’ll go quickly.

i wonder every night what my dreams are trying to tell me, what treasures my subconscious may unfold. perhaps they tell me that I need more sleep-- I haven’t dreamt in weeks.

“Who Am I” by Amy Ge

i used to tell myself that when others failed me, i was safe because i held the power not to fail myself. feel the capricorn pulsing through my veins and tell me i shouldn’t be afraid of the day i do. i’ve shown myself it’s possible. but my lungs and my liver weep every time i begin to resemble my gardener i fold my clothing with tight corners when it’s not laying waste on my floor. who told him i could survive on his negligence? or did he simply enjoy the sight of poison seeping into my soil?

my body naturally wakes up at four in the morning now my face a mirage of maroon and scarlet battles scars from hours of staring at a blurry midnight ceiling i’ve got rips in my petals, acid burns on my leaves, and toxins in my roots. please look away if you don’t wish to see this sprout wither. but i know i’m just like everyone else. i’m scared of being truly content. every time i dance among the waves, i know they will inevitably pummel me. i cherish inanimate objects, hold them close to my heart as if they can feel it hurting. i know that ‘i can’t dance’ is the laziest excuse for those who are afraid of living. the idea of fate simultaneously inspires and saddens me.

but i love it when people call me by my name. it reminds me of how my soul, no matter how scorched, seeps out of my body and into the people i love.

“Wonder Surrealism” by Molly Varela

on growing old

by Olivia Schroeder

Climbing this mountain I find that I often look down. Missing how it easy it was to breathe at the bottom, I feel my lungs stiften with each breath of air. But as I run down craving the ability to inhale in bliss, The air never feels as thin as I remember.

As I sit at the bottom missing my precarious childhood, All I can do is cry. Watching each tear slowly trickle into a pool of saline, I stare into the reflection of the little girl that stares back at me.

As I peer into her naive eyes, I wonder what changed Why did the sparkle filled iris become so dim? I watch how simply she paints outside the lines. How tightly she grasps onto her mom’s hand, as she wanders through the grocery store. Envious of how easy it was for her to love.

Escaping the momentary lapse of innocence, I can’t avoid the figments of my mind. Too scared to color outside the lines like I once did, I find myself straining my soul for utter perfection. Navigating the grocery store in solitude.

No matter how far I go down the mountain, the void inside continues to exist. So I climb, and climb, and climb. Until that aching pain fades into the sensation of numbness.

“Pali Notches” by Cormac Cadden

You sat in my living room, sprawled across the couch as if it was yours all along

You let me speak, emulating the perfect image of what you think you are, but you do not listen

You cannot hear what I say because you choose not to

My words are not empty yet they fall to the floor only to be filled by your meaningless sentences and pretentious metaphors I hear our conversation from the rafters, letting it weave through the suspended dust

‘“Lost in Space” by Jack DeKoker

uhhh moving on

by Molly Opalsky

I watch my lips recite phrases and construct expressions to appease your lust for intellect

But I do not mean what I say half of the time For what are shrewd enlightened platitudes to woo the foolish when they do not hold any meaning beyond performance Where once I found comfort, I now recoil, unable to accept your insincere embrace

How utterly mortifying it is to yearn for the love I cannot have and what you cannot give How tiring it is to be let down time and time again

You love half-heartedly, always wondering what could have been, always with an escape plan, straying to another time, another place, another person

I would much rather be the afterthought that drifts through your subconscious, than the one your mind strays from In retrospect, none of the strife we endured was striving towards bettering our relationship, rather preparing me for my future, away from you There is no right person, wrong time.

loving a woman

by Isabella Moreira

You’d stay cold and distant

Even though her arms were wide open

You still couldn’t reach

She kept the melody of your voice on replay

And the book of pictures she had in the back of her mind

Because she was restless without it

Now you sleep with the memory of losing her

And you can’t sleep without the thought of her

You didn’t love, but you’ve lost.

“Girl with Flowers” by Grace Flanagan

disturbance

by Amanda Salatino

“Shadows” by Jack Dekoker

She is a fallen tree. Argue against her existence with the wind.

timeby Adriana Hazlett

Time burns the house of my memory. I scramble to collect every possession— Every word, every glance, every shiver, The chokehold of the moon in a pair of eyes, The waterfall of a laugh, of a breath, The flickers in the shadows Before it all goes up in flames. But fire—and time—are relentless, And all too soon I am left clutching only ashes and char, Only turns of phrase and glimpses of a vision. And I am powerless before the inferno of time, Watching the palace with all its magnitude turn to smoke.

“Nostalgia” by Jack Dekoker

lifeby Adriana Hazlett

Life is not in vain, I hear it in the rain. I see it in the seagull’s eye. I feel it in the fellow heart beside me. My wet eyes—they see, they know The blue tumult of the waves, The glory of the hiding sun.

I am human; I am free With shoulders shaking, tongue burning, mascara running. Oh World, Let me eat your sand, Let me sleep beneath your ocean. I once was blind, But now I see: Life is not in vain; beauty is mine. Swallow me whole and embrace my bones and— I don’t care about the matches, I don’t care about the crumbs. To feel, to love, to sing, to ache, to soak, Life is in my veins.

“Cabo Cut” by Cormac Cadden

“It Was Just a Dream” by Amy Ge

(spring cleaning)

by Lucie Babcock

you know, you’re supposed to hate stuff. empty home. clean mind. no mess. you’re supposed to spring clean. declutter. throw out. no unnecessary things.

but how

am i

supposed to hate my (museum giftshop) trinkets and my baby pictures (ripped from a time I can’t remember) and my glass elephants (one of them chipped from the hardwood floor) and my boxes (under my bed filled with old cards from birthdays long stale) and the time capsule (from eighth grade when leap years felt like they’d lept already and left us behind)?

am i

supposed to hate my (overcrowded) shelves and my (dog eared) classics and the books the books (spilling over into piles) (stacked next to my door) (at eye level of my crumpled pillow) (in the corners of my closet) and my collectors’ editions (with the signatures i trace my fingertips over) and the illustrated clothbounds (commandeered from my cousin’s dusty top cabinet) and the water-warped paperbacks (from that summer i spent in the shallow of the pool)?

am i

supposed to throw them out? declutter? spring clean? tossing my trinkets aside would be tossing parts of myself out, little scissors snipping away my folded corners and coarse edges and letting the pieces fly and tumble away until i was nothing but a blank page

you know, i think i’ll keep the stuff, thanks.

“Ocean Mist Outline” by Alex Han

the night is blue sticky with jasmine and tobacco you follow the hushed whispers a glimpse of scarlet and through the double doors you go the secret — a tango

the world erupts crimson stained lips swirling satin heartbroken violins and groaning bandoneons a siren melody ‘come to me’ ‘come dance’ it calls and you crawl on our knees begging for it to take you

tango

by

Natalia lust

one and spin love? stars spin …and snow gone left only a beating

tango

Natalia Mochernak

blossoms into a thorny rose last glimpse of the ripe mango moon everything a blur spin and spin Gasp! love? spin spin spin! stars spin twirl spin twirl

…and then snow covered silence gone as fast as it appeared only with beating heart

“Ojai” by Rasa Nyce

time won’t fx this

by Anonymous

i like to say what you did to me doesn’t affect me anymore but 5 years later

i cant hug people or touch people or love people

5 years later

i wake up screaming covered in sweat and tears convinced it’s happening all over again

5 years later

i still feel your hands on me gripping my neck telling me to be quiet

5 years later

i hate people that have the same name as you that talk like you that look like you that dress like you

5 years later

i cant make love because you rewrote that experience for me

5 years later

10 showers won’t get the feeling of your hands off of me

so 5 years later

i cant even say it doesn’t still affect me

“Reflecting on the Day” by Alex Han

“This Too Shall

Pass” by Amanda Salatino

“Vigil of Life” and “Midnight Bloom” by Mirabel Hunt

never sell the sun to buy a candle

by Yasmine Parsa

His eyes crashed into mine

Butterflies started flying in my stomach

My eyes lit up the way stars light up the universe

Is he going to be my sun?

The sun that won’t die out like a candle?

Damn right he became my sun

The sun that made me walk into a room with strength

The sun that I promised to never sell

Little did I know that the sun never promised to not leave My strength walked out of my body as he walked out of my heart

The butterflies stopped fluttering in my stomach

The stars in my eyes died slowly

The universe he built in my eyes started dying

I still feel the wounds he left on my heart like pieces of glass cutting through my skin

I learned to cover those wounds

I learned to not be the fish in the sea but to be the shark

Brave and strong

last laugh

by Mirabel Hunt

let me have the last laugh and i will wear it around my neck like a golden pendant hung on our severed invisible string give me the conch shell so i can shout what you have been whispering for so long and give me back the pen u took so i can write more obituaries for our sensational lack of situation and may i be the one to pull the plug so i can finally get my dignity back thanks for nothing

“Bougainvillea” by Natalia Mochernak

“Girl with Fish” by Z Zabarsky

hear my battle cry

by Yao Liu

To the storms I’ve braved, And the murky waters, I’ve (drowned in) you should knowin the end, I’ll be stronger for it

The sun rises and the tide changes i get up i am a warrior today put on my armor, prepare for the daily battle, I think you can’t hurt me, (at least not permanently) hunters of the world, listen close no matter how many arrows you shoot at me, I will pull them out one. by. one.

By one. And my blood is gushing onto the floor. But I stay standing a single match, part of an eternal flame can’t. be. won’t. be.

blown out by nobody

The life of living a thousand lives, cycle of pain and pause

And pain

And pause and pain and-

(Wait, can I just pause… forever?)

warrior girl, push forward warrior girl, you have to continue for us

My ancestor’s chants

linger

In my tired ears

Hear my battle cry

I say to the world

Hear my battle cry, I think (a tear slides

down my cold cheek

““The Weight of Your Innocence””

by Amanda Salatino

crying into mirror

by Olivia Shroeder

The depths of her heart, filled with elation

As shallow pools of innocence drowned her I watched her light fade into stagnation Where did she go? She vanished to a blur

But how can I live when there is nothing? Nothing but tender feelings of the past

I´ve broken apart, unfit for loving Sinking deeper, the aching pain would last

I loved so much, but who chose to love me? Tears burning beneath the facade of lies Tormented by thoughts, wishing to be free Screams of hatred fill her mind as she cries

Terrorized by my own foul reflection

I found my broken soul dread affection

new age

by David Erkam

stay up for the bright lights, strobes keep flashing keep up with the blurry walls, bathroom stalls, stick around for the forever wishing sitting by a box, waiting for a call

the good ending sits like a weight texting while driving, swerve keep the wheel straight no point of waiting for that type of joy you should have seen my room as a boy I always had to keep an idea inside of my head all up in the clouds

when I’m older I’m augmenting, can’t stop nobody pressure me, no one touch me how long though? will any of this pay off I might hire the world to perfect me

“COM” by Cormac

by Jasmine Criqui

Thoughts whirl in my skull like paper birds

Wingtips chip away at gray matter

Buzz amounting to nothing more than a headache No painkillers are equipped to ease

Chin up, buckle down, move out Arbitrary digit, turned profound Blinders at your temples, plod ahead Echoes cling to your coattails, kick them off Tunnel vision, the world awaits Never mind what you leave behind

Can this be the moment of reckoning, of rebirth? That sets the blacksmith’s forge ablaze? Same metal, shaped by new hands No more forgiving, no less skilled

Stay in line, no second chances left Clutch at greenery, avarice is a virtue

Like water, it saves and ruins in equal measure Do your best to not drown in the pavement

Those shoes sticking to the blacktop were a gift From a former someone whose face shifts and blurs Lost to memory.

Cormac Cadden

minutes ticking with slow kisses on the crowns of my childhood.

one kiss thank you. for being my partner in trauma and my soulmate in sleep. for always being by my side. i wish i could’ve been by yours.

two kiss.

i’ll miss you when shades of the great atlantic leave my eyes and dry them out. the whites red and scratched and stinging, and my heart lying alone on rocky sands. beating on, outside my lifeless frame.

three kiss. i’ll never be the same. when my hooded godfather with his curving scythe pats me on the back, laughing and joking and telling me it was time, it was bound to happen. this is life. i wish he wouldn’t visit so often.

four kiss.

i’ll love you until my bones catch up with my mind. until i too relent to gravity and allow eucalyptus roots to swaddle my thousand-ton skull in velvet ropes of timber. until the branches we once dreamt among smother my mortal soul.

five kiss. please, please give me more time. 8 more hours until tomorrow. when once again my thin lips keep you on this earth, in my world, for a little bit longer. keeping you safe seems impossible. nevertheless, i try. hoping the imprint of my love will be enough

“Stray Cat” by Solana Espino

to defend you, my darling, in the moments i cannot rest my head upon your stomach. both turning. i haven’t been so lucky before. but if i forgot to give you these kisses, i may wake up to find you gone.

six kiss. i love you and i always will. i hope that is enough. it hasn’t always been, but i hope it will now.

and by the sheer force of luck, you are here again when the sun rises. was it my kisses, my ever-reaching love, that cradled your innocent soul in waters roaring, that caught you as you fell from branches towering and saved my frail heart from capitulation? maybe not.

but i’m not taking any chances.

so i come back. every night: one, two, three, four, five, six. and hope that is enough.

safe, thanks to me

by Caroline Hunt

“Tunnel” by Solana Espino