11/2/2017 Poetry by Holley Hyler Dan Finnen Foreign The gray people wear their crisp white shirts, then I come in all purple and moon-kissed and then they are busy trying not to look busy deciding if they want anything to do with that or not. The gray people shade their eyes against the sun-kissed, golden people but they like the moon-kissed people even less. Maybe it is the moonstone we wear pulling the tears right out of our eye sockets or maybe we just need to go back to the moon. The car outside Starbucks is idling and two marines walk in, and we are busy trying to look like we are not busy looking at each other and I look away to see if the car is still idling. The gray people taught me that it is shameful to be so purple. I see glimpses of purple on them, sometimes, but never enough to feel at home. Maybe holding another purple hand would not reverse gravity and send the tears back into my eye sockets. Maybe I just need to go back to the moon. Reverse SAD My summer memories feel like the sound ice makes beneath tires. Long summer days are for desolation; long winter nights are for dreaming. It was always sunny in LA, but I felt none of his warmth. He never told me to be safe until I drove in the snow. Through a Glass, Lightly Falsity stirs a cacophony that sometimes brings tears to my eyes. Finite body, finite bullshit, I remind myself. “I’m well, thanks,” you say, deadpan, and the clamor inside me begins. But what can I do? You say goodnight after we talk about nothing, again, and I have no choice but to let you go, again. Channeled you are coming out of my fingers comforting me like he won’t. saying that I want to cross over and join you is me playing the “I want to take my toys and go home” card but is true, at the same time. you are coming out of my crown talking to me like he won’t. he is a drug that helps me forget I’ve lost my purpose and it takes my withdrawals from him to help me remember and then you come in. thank you for not asking what the hell you are doing here. I want to cross over and join you but this can be enough, if it must. ![]() Bio: Holley Hyler has been published in Adelaide, Buck Off Magazine, Rebelle Society, and The Urban Howl. She was a finalist in the 2017 Adelaide Literary Awards with her essay, “Nonlinear.” She is passionate about sixties music and the guitar. You can find more of her work on her website, holleyhyler.com. Comments are closed.
|
AuthorWrite something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview. Archives
December 2024
Categories |