Prose & Poetry

welcome home, starling

you are safe now

on dead objects

on dead objects

left A in the apartment he buried me in honey / the moonlight cut across our bodies blind knives whittling through us i / looked at A his curls / the hands bent into crumbled spiders / this is the last time i will sleep next to you /  i thought / and it felt consecrative / beautiful

nine years old & ten a.m. at the barn she pulls a grapefruit from her lunchbox / the color of pink lemonade concentrate / rips open a salt packet / and pours
        / a little salt / makes everything sweeter / the horses blinded in their stalls / thrashing

i’d take you to the beach if i could / this time not for the waves / cracking on shore like eggshell / against mixing bowl / but the desolate wind / from the hollywood pier / the way the moon slept in our hearts / woke us early / restless /
those nights we found ourselves / clamshelled / digging the way home 

the night you slept in my green sweater / i bit your neck aubergine & bled scarlet / & we didn’t know it till morning
        when you left / your curls strewn across my pillow / a bird’s nest / browning with carnage 

our bodies still small & everyday our hair
                        a little longer

 

Charlotte Foreman is an undergraduate studying Written Arts at Bard College in Annandale on Hudson, New York. An overdramatic Leo, her poetry and photographs usually center around a nostalgia for home or just general disillusionment. She has previously been published in Crashtest Magazine, Squawk Back, and YST Publications. You can contact her through her website or by email.
Wistful, but okay

Wistful, but okay

july, the shade of apple cider

july, the shade of apple cider