I gave up looking for the meaning in May
The Twelfth
There were people dancing in the tides of an ocean. I stood in the blue and watched them. Contemplated the tall one of the group. I met them at the shore as they materialized from the tide.
The Sixteenth
I sang Solo by Frank Ocean staring out a school bus window. And there’s a bull and a matador dueling in the sky. Inhale, in hell there’s heaven. Our class was on a field trip. I planted vegetables with two boys that stayed in my periphery.
The Ninth
Dreams became wandering in the expanse of an author’s genre. I thought of Murakami. A man tests me on guns as he holds my hand . Big and warm. Mostly soft but calloused too. He plays music. In a car chase through the desert, there were squares of lime green painted on the road.
The Fourth
I had to resuscitate a goldfish with a gym partner. There were pennies on the floor. The middle of the gymnasium is swollen with water and fish. The ends are the shore. I stripped my damp shirt off too soon and had to wear my green raincoat.
The Twenty First
A large room with a glass ceiling. A girl asked me to tell her about the constellations. I pointed to the dipper. Or a man with a dog. The words fell out of my mouth slowly because I am far away and small. Gravity is the only thing possessing my body from falling into the dark matter.
The Twenty Sixth
A man perches on a boat’s railing. We’re talking before he slips. I caught him by his arms. He says this has happened before. In the photograph of proof, the water turns pink as he’s slipping.
The Eleventh
I’m in the fourteenth century. A small grove divides a dirt path and a vast field. A prince forages for my gaze in a crowd because he wants to sing to me from a stage he’s on. I move backwards and hope no one notices me. It felt like a distant memory.
Fiona Duffy is a writer from Indianapolis, Indiana. She currently attends the School of the Art Institute of Chicago for a BFAW. She has been published in Untitled and MOUTH magazine. She hopes whoever is reading this has a nice day. Find her in the future.
The Literary Forest Poetry Magazine 