In the spirit of National Poetry Month, over the next few days Reads will be publishing five original poems, submitted by Stanford students and chosen by the Arts & Life editors. We hope you enjoy them as much as we do, and that you continue to read, write and celebrate poetry.
“You cannot know…the obsession, the joy, the torment of my days…”
She looks so pretty laying there,
belonging to these white walls
for tourists to see & forget.
Here, the art is the act of fleeing
& how flight becomes funeral,
according to the tour guide.
The scene is only replica
of a body rising as the frame
collapses into a tombstone & then
into preservation. Light sheds
itself into spider webs invading
the birth of loss. Flowers press
into her chest until the petals
carve themselves into a casket.
Her skeleton stained with the absence
of scintilla. Did she love the same way
an impressionist loved? Leaving
everything in the shifting
of moments into memories longing
to grow old until the sky slips
into dew until the soft shades
of lavender are burning until
the self is the horizon howling
in the background & the face
is merely an afterthought.
Here, the art is an act of self-help,
growing into hunger & then into permanence.