Image for the poem Fiona


By summer, youíll be in love with death, with boys named Jason. Jacob. Thereís an old gas pump in the yard and a humming bird made of tissue paper throbbing in your chest. Youíll try to define taste, burnt fruit and powdered sugar, your panties rumpled and thrown down the well. Grief always makes the most beautiful ruckus, the most beautiful jewelry. My tongue yearning to caress different words, apples, cicada, the way it caressed the cream lining of your ear. Iíll wake up at three every night craving mint ice cream, dream of my motherís hands sifting flour. Like all the daughters, aching to be beautiful inside and out. Our eyes longing to see but covered by our fathers' hands.
Written by toniscales (Lost Girl)
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
likes 4 reading list entries 0
comments 5 reads 227
Commenting Preference: 
The author is looking for friendly feedback.

Latest Forum Discussions
Today 7:41pm by wallyroo92
Today 7:37pm by socksscareme
Today 7:35pm by EdibleWords
Today 7:20pm by Ahavati
Today 7:17pm by nomoth