maybe we’re both just passing time here on the ground—you, a creature of the sky and me, more comfortable in water than on land.
How can I get the sky wet enough to swim in? How can you tolerate the weight of water?
Thank God for the trees, without the magic of the cypress, how could we have found each other? Wings, watery knees, and the depth of green light in the air, among the cypress, we can breathe in the space where hawks and mermaids don’t suffer the earth.
About the Creator
Harper Lewis
I'm a subversive weirdo nerd witch who loves rocks. Intrusive rhyme bothers me. Some of my fiction may have provoked divorce proceedings in another state.😈
My words are mine. Suggest ai use and get eviscerated.
MA English literature, CofC
Keep reading
More stories from Harper Lewis and writers in Poets and other communities.
Thirty (one) and Neither Flirty nor Thriving.
I'm thirty-one and orbiting the same few mistakes like they're landmarks. London is already awake before I am (or before I've slept) - sirens somewhere far enough to ignore, buses sighing at stops, people moving with purpose I can't quite borrow. I lie there for a bit, tasting last night at the back of my throat, trying to remember if I meant to drink that much or if it just...happened again.
By Stacey Vellaa day ago in Psyche
Comments (1)
Man, is this good. Emerson would be lapping this up. I read it several times to absorb it.