Aimée Eicher | 3 Poems
the hours unravel from their ball of yarn,
slipping through my fingers, and
the fuzzy numbers on the clock
don their disguises.
two morphs into five,
six and nine become one.
and within a
the sun evicts the moon
from its celestial abode.
its light wanders through my window and
pounces onto my bloodshot eyes and,
with its marigold madrigal,
calls me to wake.
although I have not slept,
my mind has melted into the
depths of the ocean.
the stirring sun is my submarine,
my salvation from the whale’s mouth.
As You Depart
take my words with you
let their sour simmer on your tongue
let the pigments of my mind
stain your fingers
do not wear gloves
get your hands dirty
sink them into my soil and let the
worms wriggle across the rivers on your palm
watch the flower petals blossom from their backs
watch their watercolor flutter with the wind
let your sins sink into their wings
let my rain massage the knots in your throat
grip my heart in your palm
let your sundry dreams seep into each pulse
let it dwell among the spines on your bookshelf
let it whisper each word of your chapter
let its identity slip your mind
but not its presence
Decreased appetite / dry mouth / feelings of inadequacy
prodding with their thumbs / wisps of thought escaping via
the tongue / eyes spilling Elmer’s glue onto the phone screen / blood
pooling in the valleys of moonlit days / penning love letters to
the moon as its eye peers down / deconstructing love into the letters of
a sick child’s canned soup / piloerection (goosebumps) /
inspecting every inch of self with a microscope / letting the shower’s hot spit
settle onto the skin / shaky hands
smearing the blue-black ink across a paper face / draping a scarf over
the welts that wail in July / arms of a maple tree
grasping from the skull / leaves losing grip and wasting away with
drooping eyelids / gum stuck between both eyes / mother spider
spinning her web with stolen memories / tears of honey-sweet milk
tripping over themselves / breath’s continuous breastfeeding from the lungs /
death / a caterpillar crawling back into its nostril /
Aimée Eicher is an emerging poet from New York City, though she spends most of her year in Ithaca, New York studying at Cornell University. In addition to being a third-year undergraduate biology student, Aimée is an editor for The Cornell Daily Sun. Her poetry often centers on themes of mental health and coming of age. She is on Twitter @aimeeeicherr.