cicadas chirp around me
buzzing and bursting at the seams for something to change
something has to give
but it won’t be me
and it won’t be you
I can feel my skin peeling off
gross, disgusting, unnatural,
yet praised
the summer sun burns me and
boils me down to my
bare essentials.
I become nothing but what you want me to become.
but when autumn comes near
I feel the weather cools
and I become myself again.
the cicadas die off,
and only their shells remain.
I am more than that. I will always be.
i’m not the one to sound alarms
when there’s not an emergency,
when nothing ’round me would cause harm
or initiate urgency.
a crash, a boom, a slam, a bang,
the explosion of someone’s voice
can leave me grasping for somebody
to give me another choice.
it’s all at once, it’s always been,
and i know it always will be,
but every time i think of this
i wonder how this world is free
since i’m not made to handle things
of multitude, for i am just
a person with a complex mind
of particles that come from dust.
and who really isn’t just that?
is anybody else around
to witness nature’s caveat,
the deaf’ning, overwhelming sound?
because i know i’m not alone,
but it truly does seem like so
when i go in search of my own
and all i get is told to go.
so what to do in such a state?
a person who is nothing but
as moved and living as the late
can only pull their eyes closed shut.
unless, of course, there was a hand
to hold and have and know and pass
through all the hurt and turmoil that
come with this life, this knowing path
of crashes, booms and slams and bangs,
of letting that heaviness hang,
of knowing even on your own
you’ll never truly alone.
emergency! emergency!
a social peril, a dire need
to be together, joined at once,
to fight the good fight attonce
“to have and to hold,”
but what is left in my arms if not empty platitudes
if i forget to take action with my love.
i’m made of the dignity i was born with,
of the earth beneath me, the sky above me,
the insects and mammals and fish around me,
of the people around me.
i am tied to them forever.
with all of my dreams of leaving myself behind,
as long as there are others i will always be here.
marriage is a promise to another
and the public
that someone’s story will be a part of yours,
has been a part of yours,
for better or for worse.
i am married to my past, my present, my future,
to my former footsteps and the dirt that surrounds them.
i am married to my loved ones, my peers,
and those who will never love me back.
i am part of something greater, something better,
something bigger than me or anyone that i could think of.
marriage, really, is everywhere and in everything that you can think of.
just like love, and just like hope.
i will have this peace. i will hold my loved ones.
now and forever.
the boundless curve of light kissing glass, the horizon line stretched as far as the eye can see, bowing away from the edge of light where atmosphere met space, the bluest of blues reflected in the three-fourths of an inch of glass that separated him from the unforgiving void. here, the unfettered sun blazed, burning away even the thoughts of a shadow. there was no sound but the rasp of his own breath, the pulse of his blood in his chest. it was terrific. terrifying. the awe never faded with each trip; he glanced down again at the planet’s surface, lingering, wondering, and a giddy dizziness washed over him, a sensation of the surface coming up to swallow him whole, to cradle him between vast arms of mountains and churning seas. here, at the edge where gravity’s grasp fell away, at the cusp of an endless void of air, he looked into the wild blue yonder. he breathed in, held; he breathed out. he was going home.
The skiff drifts into the cool embrace of the canyon’s hands, a brief reprieve from the relentless light. Air knife-sharp, tongues cleaving to the roofs of mouths for want of a drink, dizzying heat rippling over the surface. The river a shining ribbon of deceit: here, the salinity is so high such that only halophiles can thrive in its waters. Open your mouth and feel the salt crystallize on your teeth; open your ears and hear nothing but wind whistling through winding walls worn down by time. Close your eyes and see the living-red heart-pulse of your eyelids, overexposed, reflecting sandstone and limestone and the rich red of iron, the pale shells of creatures long gone ground into dust.
PRESS RELEASE
FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE
Early Monday afternoon saw a vessel of unknown origin crash-landing in the fields just west of District 7. One resident (who wishes to remain anonymous) managed to capture the moments right after the crash as smoke billowed from the wreckage. No agency or nation has yet laid claim to the titanic craft; some speculate that it is an experimental military spaceship, some extravagant film stunt, or even, however implausible, a ship of extraterrestrial origin. Stay tuned: we will keep you updated as new developments come to light.
