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Literature Text
Michael said that the moon shrinks
at a rate of 0.2 centimeters per year
due to the Earth’s gravitational pull.
i held his hand the way
sticky children hold sticky popsicle sticks
and told him that
the moon is just Shakespeare’s way of saying goodbye.
“and gravity is just falling,” he says
and i blink fast enough until i can see
little popsicle juice drops behind my eyelids.
i imagine myself smearing them across his knuckles,
making him all cherry blood.
i don’t think the Earth knows where it’s going
because if shrinking is the result of just too much strength
then Michael doesn’t know where this is going.
i grip his now grape-glue juicy thumb with my fist.
“i love you with my whole heart” i say
and i don’t think Shakespeare knew what it meant
to leave something moving.
often,
i feel like i’m missing something fading
and every time he draws me to his chest,
pulls me into his gravity,
well,
i know why they call it the force of falling.
i shrink inside of him, popsicle stick sticky fingers
holding me in perfect orbit.
maybe Shakespeare didn’t care that goodbye meant leaving.
Michael’s fingers weaved with mine,
i look up at the moon 0.2 centimeters smaller than last year
and wonder how its face would look painted raspberry blue.
at a rate of 0.2 centimeters per year
due to the Earth’s gravitational pull.
i held his hand the way
sticky children hold sticky popsicle sticks
and told him that
the moon is just Shakespeare’s way of saying goodbye.
“and gravity is just falling,” he says
and i blink fast enough until i can see
little popsicle juice drops behind my eyelids.
i imagine myself smearing them across his knuckles,
making him all cherry blood.
i don’t think the Earth knows where it’s going
because if shrinking is the result of just too much strength
then Michael doesn’t know where this is going.
i grip his now grape-glue juicy thumb with my fist.
“i love you with my whole heart” i say
and i don’t think Shakespeare knew what it meant
to leave something moving.
often,
i feel like i’m missing something fading
and every time he draws me to his chest,
pulls me into his gravity,
well,
i know why they call it the force of falling.
i shrink inside of him, popsicle stick sticky fingers
holding me in perfect orbit.
maybe Shakespeare didn’t care that goodbye meant leaving.
Michael’s fingers weaved with mine,
i look up at the moon 0.2 centimeters smaller than last year
and wonder how its face would look painted raspberry blue.
Literature
Of All the Places in the Universe
She was a button girl. Thirteen and already too old to be beautiful with grimy cheekbones accented by listless, golden-gray hair. She spent her time trying to sell her collection, dozens of buttons lined neatly in a haggard box. The large one with tiny flowers etched into them, a plain navy one, and the bright pink button were her favorites. They were the ones she hoped would find a home in some little girl's cherished dress or a mother's apron.
With her coat straining around her, eyes crowded with years of cold and unease, she held out her box to a passerby. Buttons flashed in the muted light, but the man scoffed as he continued past her. S
Literature
you are my oxygen
i feel you slipping
through the cracks in my window
leaving me breathless
Literature
lunacy.
what the moon teaches us is
no one exists as a constant.
some days you will orbit elsewhere.
the angles of light that
make up the shadows of you
will keep moving.
it is the same with the ocean
and how it does not meet
the shore the same each time:
some days it will come crashing,
eroding: or it comes back to kiss
its edges over and over
there are some days i am more
of a tsunami. there will be days
you will be eclipsed.
and i don't mind this. the moon is
up in the sky but the ocean still feels
the weight of its pull, always.
i want to drown in the
push and pull of your gravity
in all the ways that's possible.
i could get used to the
di
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Very well-done! Bravo! Love the imagery! Will definitely go back and reread! Keep writing!