The poisoned waters beneath the sailboat I wish I was
Poisoned by empty promises and the tears of the willow who hasn’t stopped weeping,
the water is uninhabitable, yet the sailboat is untouched.
I worry the loneliness guts her,
makes her so hollow the cries of her heart echo across
the gravestones of her skeletal soul,
but she’s not me.
She’s not a graveyard of dusty love and salt-stained ashes and ripped T-shirts.
She’s heavy enough to withstand the breakage,
strong enough to repair the holes that I never could,
fast enough to outrun the inevitable ruin.
Because she’s not me.
I wonder if she’s ever seen a willow tree fold into itself the way it did
when it’s rearview world became a reality, and I wonder
if she’s ever heard a cry so loud the stars fled the sky and buried themselves
below the waters of that unforgiving ocean.
If she did, I fear she wouldn’t carry me, for all I want—more than anything—is
to rid myself of the tainted T-shirt and make my home wherever she leads me.
Even if it’s amongst the stars that are scared of the same cries that poisoned the water.
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Abby Wright is a senior entering her fourth and final year on staff for The Central Trend, and second year as Editor in Chief. She values art, Spotify...