𝙾 𝙲 𝙲 𝚄 𝙻 𝚄 𝙼

For Sydney

 

You take him into you as belladonna.
The boy, a velvet moonchild, oil and
myrrh and entropy and the carcass of a 

planet gone up in flames. You ask him to
pass you in orbit and when you look 
into his smokescreen eyes and see

rust and amethyst, butterscotch 
forgiveness, his mouth tastes like rain. 
There are no other words for “birth”

but in another galaxy perhaps “wound” 
tastes the same in a mouth. 
Starling, his cupped hands will

not pour love into your spine. You
become undone by the trembling
of light, only to find yourself blind 

and alone when it implodes. In 
another galaxy there are no more 
sounds for colors to make, no more 

stars to burn for. The unspooled curve
of a crescent cannot melt winter in a 
body, it can only break bones.

 

---

 

Jennifer Boyd, 17, is a poet, blogger, and pianist. The recipient of the 2017 Easterday Poetry Prize, she has written work appearing and forthcoming in The Rising Phoenix Review, Alexandria Quarterly, Up the Staircase Quarterly, and The Sierra Nevada Review, among others. In addition, her work has been recognized by Fidelity Investments, Princeton University, Smith College, Hollins University, the Scholastic Art & Writing Awards, and the New Jersey Talented Young Musicians Association.