Oblivion

Elizabeth Mason

I’ve spent my life perched on a cliff Content with staring out into oblivion And watching time tick by on a whim, Satisfied with existing alone. So indulged was I, the solitary observer, In watching the void swallow up Soul after soul after willing soul, That it came to my utter and terrified surprise When I felt your hands press against y back And suddenly I was fallingDown, Down, DownParalyzed by the shock of your palms Rather than the rush of the freezing winds As I rapidly drew nearer to the ground. I was too concerned with the foreign sensation of gravity After floating so high above the rest of the world To realize you had jumped down behind me For the sake of letting your body fall victim to physics. I was too preoccupied with becoming a part of the world I had been so long content to merely observe To notice how you’d drawn up your body beside mine For the sake of hitting the ground at the same time I did. No regard for my previous satisfactionNo remorse for casting y body into oblivionNo care for how little I shared in your sentiments, Which centered mainly around your personal thrills. You knew how to fallIt was natural for you- But I had never left my perch at the top of the world. And so my instincts told me, “Be afraid.” And it was only in the moment before I hit the ground That I discovered the reasoning behind your jump

And felt just a single spark of joy Before everything shattered on impact As though my bones were made of glass; Had my heart not broken the fall, I suppose I would have been beyond repair. As I struggled to push myself up, And pull my limbs togetherI felt your hand grasp mine. I tried to pull away from you“I don’t want this! I don’t want this!”But you were firm, yet kind, in your touch And showed me that you had done this before, Picking up the pieces every time you were pushed down. Sometimes someone helped you; Sometimes you were alone. But every time you got back up and found That the fall was always worth the landing. And as soon as you put me back together, And I did the same for you, The two of us found that this rhythm of falling together Eternally casting ourselves out into an unknown void Was a necessity that we had both been looking for. When we’d set our muscles back in place We found our hearts had always remained intact I gave you yours; You gave me mine, And we held it together so it wouldn’t crack. From the fall and from the crash We, the two of us made one, Built something beautiful and warm and complete. And you always swore from the beginning That you had never fallen so hard And felt such a need to stand up after As you did when you jumped into oblivion after me.

By Leah Michaels

She was celebrating, while I was in space She remained selfless, while I was selfish She was happy and free and for the last time on this earth, while I was bound in chains She ate the bland foods she had too, But she could almost taste the joy that filled her living room She could hear the bellowing laughter that came from the mouths of her loud Italian kids She was in pain, but she kept laughing She was dying, but she didn’t stop smiling She had everything and nothing at the same time, but it was enough She had enough, but I thought I didn’t I thought I needed to feel something different, Something new, But what I needed, After all, was her I needed to hear her say, “I love you, Dolly” And I needed to kiss her on her wrinkled cheek and say, “I love you too” I needed to hold her hand while her body endured that unbearable pain I needed to be with her in her last happy days, But I was in space. She was abandoned, while I was in space But maybe she’s up there, With her squinted, brown eyes, Her always-present, happy face, Still smiling

By Airea Johnson

This morning I walked to the mailbox, grass hugging my toes, dew kissing the soles of my feet. A breeze waltzing with strands of my hair, while the moist air tickles my nose. Oh how it is to be.

My acceptance letter from Flagler came today, the gratitude falling down my cheeks in wet sheets that were to be hung dry. College was merely an idea, a tale that I never thought I would live to see. Oh how it is to be.

I received a phone call from my father, his hearty laugh leaves my voice in tremors, he has no idea that I miss him so. I want to invite him to my high school graduation, but I never actually do. Regret has this funny way of branding the guilt in the back of your throat, Leaving you to swallow the “I love you, Dad,” and the “I wish you would call me more,” But instead forces you to choke up a “It was nice of you to call me.” Oh how it is to be.

Writing poetry would always leave me breathless, With each metaphor or vivid line that would flow out of the course of my pen hitting the lines I was left admiring my work like the potter after a long day of molding this nothing into a masterpiece. I never had room for pride when depression came to visit but now my words tell of my accomplishments so bold and delicately. Oh how it is to be.

I once read that in order to be a writer one has to write; write on the good days, the bad, when the world has gone to shit,

But I don’t write poetry.

Poetry writes me and that’s how it is to be. 24

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