Vassar Student Review

Vassar Student Review

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The Commute

Monday, 7am, getting coffee 

– The graveyard, bathed in the golden rays of a young sun
– A white-haired woman, wearing a blue cap, strolling 
– White lilies on every single grave 

Tuesday, 6pm, walking home 

– The graveyard, colourblind and drenched in evening rain 
– A white-haired woman, wearing a blue cap, strolling 
– Orange marigolds on every single grave 

Wednesday, 5pm, walking to the bookstore 

– The graveyard, carpeted by low hanging mist clinging to the grass 
– A white-haired woman, wearing a blue cap, strolling 
– Green hydrangeas on every single grave 

Thursday, 7am, getting coffee

– The graveyard, blurred by thick fog, yet pierced by the light of scattered lampposts 
– A white-haired woman, wearing a blue cap, sitting 
– Yellow hyacinths on every single grave 

Friday, 8pm, walking home 

– The graveyard, blanketed by the sinking sun in warm smeared inks 
– A white-haired woman, wearing a blue cap, praying 
– Blue bellflowers on every single grave 

Saturday, 11pm, couldn’t sleep 

– The graveyard, buried in the sapphire of the night scintillating off the tombstones, fireflies greeting their          neighbours with blinks of light 
– No white-haired woman, no blue cap 
– No flowers 

Sunday, 5pm, just walking 

– The graveyard, woken up by the song of twilight 
– A white-haired man, clutching a blue cap, strolling
– Pink carnations on one single grave.

– two-blade mirror

Voices muffled into distance 
yet breathed down my neck in whispers — 
flames of frost lapping my fingers, my knuckles, my wrists, 
always deeper, always more 
one single drop sinks in the lake below from teared out eyes, 
a bead the fish assail in waters of moss and weeds —
it has already disappeared — 
dead leaves float around to the fish undulating, 
breathing but brittle feathers foreign to this drowned world. 

On the other side, blades of grass dance with the breeze, 
heavy with melted snow, 
bent to the opaque barrier of pines just out of reach — 
listening in — 
sunbeams stream through branches to stain the earth in flecks of gold 
interwoven to send winged needles whizzing through the light — 
through the coat of ice breaking up senses to nothingness
they call — louder and louder, the breath of the forest thins the bars. 

I still — waiting — 
confined in a chrysalis submersed in splintered water 
constricting eyes and ears, heart and lungs 
until light touches — a freckle — enough to pierce the ice 
and to remember — 
I fracture the looking glass of the surface — 
mild air drips from my throat like honey — 
the numbness melts to clarity — 
with mirror shards dripping from my skin. 
I reach the warmth of the needle covered earth —
take a deep breath — — 

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