In Stardust

Before I met you,

I was a bird. And my wings

were strong

and my feet were quick

and my feathers were lustrous and steady.

–

Before I met you,

I was the moon. And my glow

was radiant,

and my core was resolute,

and my crescent was sharp and smooth to the touch.

–

Before I met you,

I was a seed. And my roots

were rugged

and my stems were tenacious

and my leaves were monumentally green and growing.

–

But you weren’t here to feed me,

to water my soil or please me.

I didn’t realize I was kindling,

meat stacked on bone,

a body to own, to torture and

contain and enslave.

–

And when you left,

I became a drop in the ocean,

another tear cried,

another storm waged,

another tidal wave erupted,

another spritz of salty mist in the air.

–

And after,

I sewed together

mist and glow and root and feather

and twisted it in bloody muscle,

tied it in smoke and flames,

and cased it all in a taut skin of mica,

more powerful than you could have ever imagined.

–

I felt what it was like to breathe again.

Set the air on fire again.

–

I am a bird, a phoenix rising,

I am a tree, a willow singing.

I am the moon, reborn in blood,

in stardust everlasting.

–

I was. I am. I will be.

Everlasting.

exchange

so many voices

muddle +

sway +

battle for attention

in this

foreign land of finance

in this melting pot of backgrounds

in this

classroom full of students just

pining for acceptance.

I almost said, “Hello.” // poem by Jessica Lauren Yuppa

I want to say hello

But it’s 1 am and you aren’t home

That light burned out

Some time ago

How do I unlove?

Your turn to turn away

I was told not to make homes

Of humans

The stoicism for which I was condemned

You wear with honor, now

But I see your quivering heart.

Was not, was it?

Was it, was not.

We and you and I and us and he and she who cannot be

And, I guess, never were

I want to say hello

But it’s 1 am and you aren’t home

That light burned out

Some time ago

How do I unlove?

My turn to turn away

I was told not to make homes of humans

Though I never thought I’d live

To see my own ghost

dear friend,

I said your name today, in conversation about your work, and couldn’t finish my sentence. I stopped at your name and took a break from English, rested my shock in my hands and let my head rest in silence.

she was looking at me, across the table, not understanding what my mind was feeling, what my heart was thinking, and so she laughed and told me I needed a cup of coffee to get me through the rest of the night.

coffee. to forget you. to get through. take a sip. Are you gone? No, that’s not how death works.