6/3/2018 0 Comments Poetry By Bridget DixonWhy When My Mother Said Only Bad Things Happen After Midnight, I Should’ve Listened Curfews are set as security and it’s too bad your arms wrapped around me weren’t enough because if that were the case I never would’ve left them Doors have locks to keep people out and I wish I kept one on my heart but even then you would’ve picked mine open and let yourself in Phone calls and texts can go unanswered this late too but I blurted words like on my way and be right there without a thought Bruises display the hurt you caused me but I mistook them as healing spots when you said you were fixing me, simply knowing they were only consequences of your love Cheap alcohol isn’t the ideal drink before bed still every shot goes down smoother than the last, call it the late-night effect I learned to forget these rules My One Time Serenity It’s a two-lane highway 70 mile per hour drive back home. I’m watching lampposts towering over the road. Flickering and reflecting in my rearview, here and gone in seconds. A few miles later crossing over the bridge that shades the shallow creek. Creek or river, or cesspool, or whatever it may be. I’ve never had the desire to swim in its murky waters. Little to no one is on the road this late. My nerves are settled in the backseat with my anxiety. I own the roads for just now until the sun returns and all the commuters stir awake. I can choose whatever music I want without interruption of any passengers because this time— there are none. I finger through the countless artists and songs pirated on cassette tapes searching for the “right song”. The one that hugs your heart and soothes your mind. Panning my surroundings, truckers are parked left and right on either side of this lonely highway. This is the long stretch before I’m back in my bed and I usually enjoy how it flies by but tonight I’m lowering the speed to coast and enjoy it all. I want to remember this moment for no significant reason other than the sight directly in front of my eyes has me captivated. The moon has diminished to an orange sliver, an orange slice with a backing glow of white china. She’s sharp but still fuzzy around the sides. A defining haze that separates her from the lost stars sprinkled in the sky. Plucked like perfect spring chrysanthemums for a centerpiece. I’ll adore her watching over my return regrowth You’ve planted these seeds given me all the water I need then you took me out of the sunlight and told me to find it some where else. Bio: Bridget Dixon lives in Cape Girardeau, Missouri. She works on campus at the University of Southeast Missouri State, where she studies English: creative writing. Between balancing school and work she likes to spend time with her roommates, three ill-mannered cats and her best friend. She’s a veg-head, Star Wars geek and a wine connoisseur (so she likes to think). She has publications at her school’s university press, poetry in a chapbook for 2017's Eclipse titled The Path of Totality, and for the third installment of Philosopher’s Stone Poetry and Prose based out of L.A. She's currently interning as lead editor for Lemon Star Magazine's weekly blogs.
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