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with more star than summer i inhabit the midautumn. touch just the surface of cold where my knees fracture even in wind like this. wind where a year ago i might have let someone touch me. these places where roads break, where the absence of sound is only a recollection of silence, echo which only echoes if sun rises like this, births sky in high pressure, pressing shut. and shut the door is brighter. i sit with my back against it, half-parted, swelling like ocean into someone’s hands; someone comes to me and i am six years old, running with a hot feeling like laughter oil-spilling in my chest and then i turn full of heaven, growing into it, fingering open the clouds and the roofs are like photographs of roofs, soft-gleaming.
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Alice Yue is an undergraduate student at Rutgers University in new jersey. she is currently majoring in English and minoring in creative writing. Her future aspirations include getting an MFA in creative writing and becoming a polyglot. Shards is her first publication in a literary journal and she hopes to continue to learn and develop in the future. |
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