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Carve into asphalt ruts again, know them better than my own skin. Immediately I am seventeen on another midnight drive home; my headlights make all the same old shadows. Pink Bullets in my mind, but Pine Hill puts the hole in my chest. I hope you still love that remodeled A-frame, your dream that came… Continue reading I Was Walking With a Ghost
Probably about half is missing– large parts of what makes a person, torn off, bloodied and ragged, or atrophied – what would've otherwise formed, but it was the survival years. Everything is stitched up, the damage contained in real time. It does not look nice, but she was a toddler learning to sew and forgetting… Continue reading My best work
It still surprises me, these traces when I find them, shallow enough to feel them, my veins of Fool’s gold that shouldn't be unmapped, untapped. Parts of me still holding onto the parts of you that hurt me, like if I can feel it long enough it'll be worth it, like my longevity gives your… Continue reading Betrayed
permanent world being baby new, the solid earth still shifts beneath our feet. Mountains we cannot move cover our cities, centuries; this life flowed forward and we gaze back to where we once fought to survive. In our bones we remember how it felt to struggle, and ultimately to live, even if just barely. It… Continue reading All this
return home to breathe the air these lungs grew into to see how much the trees have grown up to see how much I have grown up and how much I never will. melissa suarez
melissa suarez I've only ever sat on roofs with boys I never kissed, never dated, never said the things we might've felt in the air up there, just nice kids sitting on roofs, looking at night skies, growing up together. I think we talked about music, maybe you had a drink, when I look right… Continue reading June
In my deepest dreams I find my way back to the old house, before it was destroyed and restored, when at night it was surrounded by dark woods and the sounds of night creatures and pond frogs, and a train in the distance; I slept there then and I do again. And again. It's sticky… Continue reading House of Honey
matter is just a word for everything do you remember the way it mattered the moments planted without markers or a tombstone or silk flowers that could fray with time to mark the everything we found there, the way we didn't mind that some things shatter, some things bloom melissa suarez
melissa 