By Rebekah

a smile creeps out onto this face
that's grown to be loved by many, and i see
wrinkles that all your adventures have
imprinted on your brow.

with nothing less than a scrutinizing eye
he watches, and much like the hourglass
patience runs out. i had hoped
to sweep my dust up with this, a
time out of mind
but as long as you are not here, you are
my problem. he stretches
farther than a lightening bolt, seeking
trees to split like love, aching for roots
and for soil-memories.
but my rich soil is nothing but dirt
to you, so you piss on it and laugh
while i run, hollering, after my streamofconsciousness
and gather piles of leaves to my chest.
it's almost springtime, darling-
can't i wait until the earth's rebirth
to be reborn again?


Rebekah is a 20-year-old college junior at the University of Oregon. She is double majoring in comparative literature and journalism and minoring in french.


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