Photo by Daniele Levis Pelusi on Unsplash
The Room Next Door
The first time Elizabeth jumped, James was on the ground with a tarp;
they were in different worlds and the two had never met.
“No one understands me,” Elizabeth said. She was lying
on the floor of her pink-striped bedroom and was talking to the ceiling.
“I feel so alone.” At this, the wind hit her window. “I know,”
she responded. She wasn't sure what it told her,
but knew it was the answer.
“I feel it whenever they talk to me,” he said. “I feel it
when my sweater’s too tight and when people ask too many questions.”
He was talking through a hole in his wall, his voice flooding
into the empty apartment next door
Elizabeth always found herself in empty places.
That's how she started replying. “I feel it when it’s too warm out
and when the sounds start to get unbearable. I feel it
when they walk too loud, when I wake up right before the sun does.
The two had been talking every night.
“What's it like where you are?” Elizabeth asked.
James had his back to the wall and Elizabeth
Was facing it. “Lonely,” he said.
“No one ever visits.”
Elizabeth laughed at this.
“Me too,” she said.
She traced the edge of her bed.
James ate lunch behind the school.
Finding different walls to blend into
Until he saw himself as brick.
“I feel like I’m going to break,”
He told her. “I feel like I’m going to break
And everyone’s going to watch.”
His head was in his hands.
“I already did,” Elizabeth paused.
“No one's watching.”
Her days were marked with the tap of footsteps
and the falling of leaves.
James moved out in January and Elizabeth slept
On the floor until July.
“It's just us now.” she said.
“It's just us.”
Bright Red Gloves
You dance in puddles with your shoes untied,
The light peeking through the clouds.
You've learned to trap it.
Bottle it up and hide it until everyone closes their eyes.
You juggle it in your hands when no one's watching,
Unaware it could break.
You tell lies with your fingers crossed,
Gently pressed against your back.
Not hidden,
Not displayed,
Just there.
A laughter draws them in front of you,
Seamlessly,
pressing them to your sides.
Like nothing at all.
You smile when I say your name,
Letting the words feel their way through your ears,
Sculpting your identity.
It means nothing,
Or everything,
Your decision to make.
You wore bright red gloves the first day I dropped you off,
Handing yourself to the world in a shoebox.
It's in the wind now,
Or in the way you talk.
It’s infinite,
Limitless,
It's in your hands.