Two by Caitlin Pedraza
September
Burned with embers,
Pierced with a rose,
Fingers slowly tremble,
As my eyes start to close.
Images in my head
Burning in my mind.
Picking up the pieces
Of the love that's left behind.
Every smile, every kiss
It's favored on nights like this.
Every touch, every taste,
It's days like this that I must face.
Tears flooding my eyes as I slowly start to wake,
I reput on the smile that I know deep down is fake,
Regathering myself and the things that I remember,
Slowly I recall again that sad day in
September.
No Title
"Leave the years far behind you
Glaring straight forward, but the spectacles warp the view.
Gripping intensely to the steering wheel as the knuckles glow white.
Fingers ran through sticky hair as the sun flickers in surrender to the stars.
The cigarette butt blazes its orange fury, smoldering the stale smell of the smoke lingering fron
its predecessor.
Beneath the shadows of doubt a soft dim glow whispers her light:
The girl with the scared confidence embedded in her pupils.
The blue tie in the black and white photograph.
The hand missing a finger but still reaching.
The boy with the unspoken voice.
Your pinky's bleeding the ink of all the words inside and never written.
Pens revived after years without a cap.
Erasers always available to make it invisible.
The silent residue of that melody after it has evaporated.
The closed eyelids and inhaling nostrils drinking the lyrics.
She comes to you in your vulnerable subconscious.
She comes to you in your dreams.
She captures your soul.
Head hung but eyes still raised.
Chin to chest but ears alert.
Mind flickering a private sideshow:
Antique dolls resting on dusty rocking chairs in a washed blue light.
Girls in black high heels hiding behind eyeliner.
Streetlights creating dabs of spotlights with orange.
Teapots squealing to let the steam escape and billow into the atmosphere.
Blank post its with metal paper clips rusting around the curves.
Foot against the gas pedal, not daring to apply the pressure.
Things you thought dead now brush the back of your neck with lacy, skeletal fingers.
Escape them, you try.
Walk on the soil already disturbed by the footprints before you.
Dark purple chords echo in your head, gnawing at the vulnerability of your mind.
Embrace the nature that is in your womb, feel the life against your cheek.
The scrapbook of your mind a concoction of a line from that song, an image from this painting, a verse from that Bible.
Tell your story with a silence that is heard, quickly now, before the sunlight of tomorrow
penetrates through the tree limbs.
Be enveloped by the dark that consumes you; keep your eyes open.
She doesn't have a name.
The four-leaf clover lies crushed beneath you weight.
Scribblings on paper seem meaningless.
Eyelashes towards the heaven you yearn to keep in your hand.
Gripping intensely to the sterring wheel as knuckles glow white.
Glaring straight ahead but the spectacles warp the view.
Leave the years far behind you."
I hope you understand.