To 2017-2018
Georgia Summer

By Avanti Tulpule

  1. Untitled
    Untitled
    By Brittany Ahn
  
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Stretches of silence long as the sky, we
Clasped breath in our hands and held it tight
An ocean of grass, the chaos of cicadas,
Blurring in the night.
                I fell in love with the sea because it reminded me
I burned bare feet on broken pavement
Dripped popsicle juice on your front porch
I can taste blue raspberry, pina colada, the
                Blood in my mouth, jaundiced moonlight, the
                Fragmented heartbeat.
God cupping us in her hands above the universe.
A town praying on its knees,
Hymns rising to heavens from the pews of godless churches.
-
A town calcified, fossilized, a town full of nothing,
                A town full of hollows and gaping
Mouths, of quiet
Summers falling into autumn’s slumber,
Kept us in caverns, grew us like moss
                Blinded by light,
                                Close to the ground,
                                                Knowing only what it clung to.
I carried fear in my throat like a vase overflowing.
-
It might have been god
                Or a ghost in the cracks of the bathroom mirror
I only saw her eyes, like my mother;
                Looking beyond my shoulder,
A looming, unfixed horizon.
I told her I am an atheist now
That’s what happens when you stop blinking, open
                Your eyes and see the moonlight, the applause of
                Cicadas, the summer idyll, clear blue sky
                Smeared with handprints.
It might have been you
I think I’m going crazy.
Please don’t find me.
                I am coming home.
                I am a body like a grocery store, my eyes
                                Never close.
                Somewhere in the cereal aisle
                Is a hushed whisper. The bathroom is
Never clean.
I draw maps on grimy ceilings. I write postcards on smudged mirrors.
Please don’t find me.
I am coming home.
-
Somewhere, I know, a town brims in remorse,
                But wherever I go is sunlit and holy
                I taste the gold of the wind and remember the gravel.
I am coming home to gather the swathes of nothingness
                In my palms and yank it from the clouds. And this nothing
                                Nestled in my stomach where god should be will subside,
                Will subside, will
Subside. Somewhere, I know, are caverns with jaws I will
                Curl up in.
                Grow into.
At night I dream of moonlight splintering into shards, but I guess we are drawn back
To where we were born.
I need you back there, barefoot,
                Stretching your fingers towards the sun.
                Somewhere, I know, you are waiting
To show me a town moaning in the rubble of its silence.
God watches me from every mirror with eyes long-gone
I collect feathers from the sidewalk for my wings, I want to unfurl across the universe –
Please be there. Don’t leave me.
Don’t find me.
I am coming home.

  
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