GED
I lurched near the fridge, And saw some grape Dangling from some vine Over, over his friends, Over spoiled milk and Rotten lettuce. I Held him between my hands with such Wonder, I Kissed him before I Ripped at his skin with my teeth, Savoring Savoring. I throw my head backwards and dent the dishwasher It doesn’t matter, It doesn’t matter unless they notice, And why would they notice? I am a ghost in this house, haunting violet halls, Second chance summoning from some Witchcraft book you read at Borders. I love to crinkle those receipts, If I close my eyes long enough it sounds like rain, thunder, and hail, The ink will rub off on my wrist when it’s wet and I pretend it’s a tattoo, I tell you “It’s a surprise” roll up my sleeves and laugh, You don’t. You are angry, you are always angry. “Feel free” I have never felt That freedom on my shoulders Or eight inches above my ankles, I cannot ask you anything, You can ask me anything, You ask me anything Recovering from surgery, so much morphine in you I can smell it when you ask me “What is his name?” I tell you her name is Elena, My name is so fragmented now I could rebirth it, And myself, Cloak it in five extra letters and erase. The school board wants to know My name But I write this instead.
Tangerine
We are playing a dangerous game, And I pray you are the winner. I pray I am the winner. YOU Are following my ungraceful movements, you know this because we are spinning in circles in single bedrooms until we are too tired, too dizzy, but leave the music on, just in case. Because there is always a Just In Case, Because I have no control, I am speaking to you plainly now, I've lost it. Thrown it under the silk sheets in their hamper, My love is stretched out and fraying, but the softest thing you've ever felt. Malleable isn't even close, There's more tension under that ivory than you could know. I’d press down to ease her burdens but listen selfishly instead, you do know That chiming is so haunting. I listen to the songs before and after the one you sent to me, I'm looking for some message, Clairvoyance be damned, I cannot divine anything about you without catching the drops from your tongue, Well, I’ve learned about scrying pools, When I look into my cupped hands I think I see your limbs entangled. I am drinking hibiscus and coughing, this is the blood of the desert and stains nothing if I spit it up, I am opening my mouth over agave and cement, pretend I am some stone-hearted Gaia, leaving no divided miracle parched. Your feet are covered with pomegranate and chia, I have made no effort to be so sterile. This is my climate but not my home. I am your oil drenched albatross, for as long as you'll have me.
Maya-Elena Jackson is a female author and musician from the Sonoran Desert. She is a regular
contributor at rose quartz magazine and has had scattered pieces published across many different
formats of journals, lit mags, buildings, and radio frequencies. Her first curated collection of
poetry ‘Heaving Numerals’ is available on Amazon. Maya-Elena writes frequently about the
female experience, the magic of nature and connection, and surviving.