The Blood Tree

by Marina Powell

Every day you paint your nails, To hide my blood beneath them. And because I will not cry, You think it doesn’t hurt.

I’m far too proud to scream, So the wind does it for me. Maybe my hands only shake, Because they long to hit you. But then your blood would mix with mine, And no—we are not one.

Burn my thorns then look for blooms, Roses, bloodlines, ashes.

Words come out, but only lies, Roots aren’t enough for love.

I’m the clock in the graveyard, Time is my brother now. So I wait inside a hollow tree, For one of us to die.

Last First Date

by Harley Steger