Beverley Katherine

the sightless girl lies awake on the floor
lamplight touches her skin
and she feels the warmth
others mistake for air.
...

I drink my morning coffee, and there you are.
It always happens just then.

My whole world, it stops
...

if he was as fragile as he seemed.
(splinters of his heart
connected to his aorta
or to her veins?)
...

the silence that is falling from your mouth is deafening
it used to be the sound of comfort;
the sound of undisputed perfection.
...

his hands, my protectors
saving me from the eternal cold placed into mine.
to speak to him again would be shooting the sun
with beams of ice.
...

hidden inside me is a heart of gold
atria plated with 24 karat diamonds
ventricles of rubies
valves made of undiscovered gems; peals luminescent in the shade of my chest.
...

It was a void
in the lives we lead.
ourselves.
maskless and brave,
...

the restless wind
blows over where
we once pocketed dreams.
...

I see you walking toward me
and I'm frightened of your smile
rows of glistening teeth that rob my lungs
you are beautiful when you are glad
...

littered with sidewalk, the broken glass reflects
all the things
I've never wanted to see
even all the cracks
...

dropping back
arms as wide as the skin would allow
oh, the trust
and the sound of it -
...

my chest is swollen
like my lungs are almost bursting
like I'm only alive because my shoelaces are untied
and they beat on the ground
...

I don't even remember what happened before this.
How I got here.
it was just a moment after a moment
after a moment
...

I wonder if they went about it
with sweat-streaked cheeks
and dirty fingernails
and ink-stained fleshy bits that held muscles that could change the world.
...

The one loved more couldn't hold still; she moved with silent steps on the hill she shared with me.

It was our place; the light was our light, the grass we owned and never cut was infinitely ours.
...

On the outside,
you are made of paper
and I am a cut-out
decorated with yarn and ruffled lace.
...

your eyes, like emerald rings,
hold mine like a father
who pulls his son back from the liquid aquamarine might
after he was sure the boy would drown.
...

shrunken in the wing,
the feathers clutched so tightly
grasping the tangled skin
with elegant fingers
...

there is a bird resting upon my open palm
long-feathered in maturity
bright-beaked, melodious
vibrant in life.
...

the place where
varying shades of gray
cover, corner to corner
the buildings and roads
...