A Portrait of a Gecko by Zoey Cort ‘20

know the girls name. It was probably Sarah. Or Madison. “What’s your name?” Cassidy finally asked. “My name’s Ivy” “Oh”

Ivy. Her name was Ivy. Ivy, whispering your sadness to a woman, sitting on her ivory throne, who understands another tongue, thought Cassidy. Ivy, hanging upside-down from a wooden swing until heat rings through your ears and your brain has to stop thinking things for once in order to prevent the blood from dripping out of you tear ducts. Ivy, two guitar strings tuned to the same note but one of them is made of plastic so they never truly will harmonize with each other in perfect unison. Ivy, blowing smoke rings at the sun in one final effort to find righteousness in this burningstrips-of-green-metal world. “Ivy” whispered Cassidy to herself. And then she looked up and the girl was gone and the bus was gone but Cassidy still had her sharpie so she added to her list “8. A sizeable wad of Juicy Fruit from the bus station”.

Madis Kennedy ‘21