Lean in, listen, I will only say it once

the shame, prevents a repeat

I must learn, not to be the person I have

my love, I’m not the girl you think I am

I don’t know where she went

I just stepped out for a moment & everything was gone

she might have gotten old, lost her way

that’s what happened when you keep

getting in the way of yourself

i’ve been waiting years for the sun to rise

remember how I used to be such a good dancer?

it was the tempo we inherited in each others grace

we turned like sundials who responded to moonlight

it hurts to think of those times

your hands entwined in mine like forest branches

creating crowns from winter flowers

piano keys winding down, ebony and ivory shivering

as opposites tripping velvet usher of hope

connection is such a rare place to…

PROEM

She’d often made it difficult, but I did love my mom beyond measure. Before learning she had died, I don’t believe I’d ever actually shrieked over any-fucking-thing in my life—that’s saying a lot. On 8 November, 2017, at three-something in the afternoon, the sound that erupted from my lungs and out of my mouth was utterly empty, yet it carried a weight of pain that unequivocally transcends my comprehension to this day. The woman who gave birth to me—the woman I’d admired in the face of animosity, and who I’d always defended against abusers breathed no more.

I miss my mom’s smile most of all. That genuine, life giving smile she had in spite of the shit she had to live with was…well, it was goddamned gorgeous. Her eyes, I swear, projected light when she was happy. My baby niece’s eyes have that same magic—sweet babe born just…

We met in November;

honey eyes

through bonfire smoke haze

I became bewitched by your gaze,

heart beating with adolescent magic.

I walked toward the fire

and into the flames.

I asked the spirits of the night

to beg you to take me;

in your arms, in your palms,

in your dripping honeyed eyes

and call me ‘Mine’.

Kristiana Reed day dreams, people watches in coffee shops, teaches English and writes. She is President of FVR Publishing, a curator on Blood into Ink, a collective member of The Whisper and the Roar & Sudden Denouement, and blogs at My Screaming Twenties. She is 24 and is enjoying the journey which is finding her voice.