The Last Three People on Earth
The lovers made their bed of flowers
and I watched from the baseball fields
cheeks hot against the chain-link fence
the echoes of metal bats cracked in the distance
perhaps far enough as the memory, life existing
even when it does not.
I was intruding but it was too late,
I had left this world and entered alone
into the world that was shared between hands
and sticky August sweat, the type to swallow
skin as its own, hungrily, greedily
the rinds of watermelon embraced as its frames
letting everything spill over. Here, loneliness
was a comfort. Here loneliness meant the dissolving
of two into alone, a sacred emptiness
everything a -ness that I watched
so sweet it coiled in my stomach and I groped
for the walls, a blindness an escape
I could not find
and next to the door was only
an empty vase where the flowers should be.
From Dawn To Dusk
One daylight is different from another
there are kinds that steal and others
that give the night a peace against
it’s own borders, weary darkness fades
at last, and in the flakes of gold and pink
that remind of the tucked inside of a shell
a remnant of a beach only the wind remembers
flowers relax then tighten tender spines
unfurling against the day, a former invisibility
discarded in pursuit of chasing the sun
Taylor Bond is a 2014-2015 Lannan Fellow, a writer, and a freelance photographer. Her work has appeared, or is forthcoming, in various publications including Underwater New York and the Belle Reve Literary Journal. Her personal website can be found at www.warrior-princess.wix.com.
Taylor Bond is a 2014-2015 Lannan Fellow, a writer, and a freelance photographer. Her work has appeared, or is forthcoming, in various publications including Underwater New York and the Belle Reve Literary Journal. Her personal website can be found at www.warrior-princess.wix.com.
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