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
moment 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
Side Effects
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.
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