Vassar Student Review

Featured Author

if dead plants could talk

have I told you
that sometimes 

hot magma buried deep
breaks through the surface

I just want to disappear?

envelops my thoughts
in its scalding red grasp

shrivel up like my dead plant, Doris Lane

cleansing the words I’ve used
to stutter and stumble 

fall into the soft earth 

burying them deep
beneath rock and mineral.

and let it reclaim my body piece by piece. 

you see, the earth has healing powers
did you see it on my face

when my gaze couldn’t quite meet yours?

and all things must die

have I told you
I’m sorry? 

to live again.

gratitude

(n.) thankful appreciation

never was a hugger
never held too tight
never let the warmth of another
linger long

i won’t tell you i love you 
just any time 
the words won’t fall soft
from my lips
like a kiss 

but know 
that it’s true 
when my lips pull upwards 
into the slightest smile 

when my eyes soak up your light 
and my head falls back in laughter 

and when my hand 
touches your shoulder 
it means i love you five times 
over once for each finger 

i want you to know that i’m
(adj.) feeling or showing an appreciation of kindness 

it fills my body 
with liquid gold 
and i’m searching desperately for the cracks 
to seal them before it drains out

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