By Kally compton
Poems & Illustrations Part I
menthol Like vines suffocate brick they’re growing—beautiful, our mothers’ hair, my father’s beard, lost teeth, treasure under the sink, shattered from hot you’re-a-brat tension, stuck together with nail glue and Lisa Frank stickers, tucked, cinched, like your air being stolen, swept from cold breath, wrench in your gut, tightly tucked static sweeping your ears, “I hate you” scribbled 23 times, a locked diary, a fuzzy sequined notebook and three half-finished compositions, stained by Starbucks, hugged by chewed gum and Dum-Dums, glitter gel love letters melting gushing Tumblr oil spills down my back, run through me, pour out of me, unravel me, click rewind tapes tangled ten times till they say: enough. No more water bottle whiskey, stolen Virginia Slims, sweat stains sticky, only vodka sours, Camel Crushes, kiss me.
chapped lips stained shut Sucking on gemstones, sipping on rose quartz to make them love me. It’s like when Dorothy gets to Oz. New year, same thing. I feel sepia most days, and I choke on crystals now. Could she always speak in rainbows or is that just what I wanted to be loud. Soft whispers of Jazz Club gracing my nostrils rubbed off on borrowed satin that once caught dreams or thoughts when they couldn’t sleep. Interrupting rest for a Girl, never interrupted. If I play the villain you’ll be the sweet pea. Melting rocket pops, freezer burnt veggies, to keep company.
The Lexington Line • S/S 22 • vol 8 • no 2
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