Isabella Wang '24
an·chor (noun): A person or thing that provides stability.
“believe me: the day the anchor fled from spool, the water was
eventually, we realized how useless it all was. that
faith stole rationale from us, stars waving from liquid sky,
grainy ‘cause the world just collapsed in reverse. your
hollow bones snapped under the weight of
ichor, and then our bodies were lowered softly.
just like lovers.
kin·dle (verb): To light, ignite.
“lost, that’s what they were—and nothing could rekindle the
magnetism of an unwilling compass.”
necropsy, split chest and slit tongue, goes on for
only as long as the knife remembers itself as scientist.
pulled loose, are our lungs: newly
quiescent and bizarrely
ravenous. reaching, for the time before we were
stolen away into wonderland.
try to imagine what it’s like to not have colors dancing
under your eyelids. i can only muster the
vague recollection of soft void, your
winter-touched fingertips about my elbow.
xenoliths, the both of us. displaced in magma heat. do
you understand what we are now? nothing like the
zinnias we’d left behind.