She has spent every moment of her life grieving
previous moments, so excuse her if she is slow
to think. Slower to speak. Slowest to open.
If you find yourself admiring
the way the clouds contour the sky,
she will say it’s okay to be soft, still.
Let her thunder shake the skies. She
will split the clouds open like a wet mouth,
a skinned knee, a screen door.
She will tell you she is too much for you.
What she means is you are not enough.
Note how flames flicker at the snap
of her tongue. Her body is a candle to burn.
Soak your lungs in her smoke.
Peel the wax from your throat
and heave broken promises back to her.
Ask for more. Don’t tell her who you answer to.
Listen to her secrets crawling
across the pillow. Let them nestle
in the crook of your ear.
Mold them into marbles. Steal the stars
and sew them into your cape.
Tuck her in at night, pocket her pain
when she weeps. Fall asleep
between her unforgivable teeth.
Lindsey J. Medina graduated from Kansas State University with a Bachelor’s Degree in English. She’s either watching basketball or buying sneakers while wishing she were watching basketball. She lives in Wichita, Kansas with her wife and fluffy shih tzus. Find her on instagram as @lindseymedinapoetry or on twitter as @queenadina_.