States of Mind April Poole ’19
May, Georgia Georgia is gold and orange, heat and sweaty clothes in the laundry bin. Arianna’s blonde hair and her hot skin against Lily’s. The sun rises
45 Poole
It feels like the whole world has gone dark most days. The sun rises late and sets early. Why did Lily move to this godforsaken state for a girl who would just leave her in the coldest month of the year- Anna knew she hated the cold. Anna always gave Lily her own sweaters when she saw the thin cotton sweaters Lily moved with, inadequate protection against the Maine winter. Anna was the only light when she woke up in the dark, and without her, no matter how many lights Lily turns on, the room remains in shades of gray. They say that brain matter is gray, and Lily can feel that grayness seeping into her thoughts and leaking out into her life. Outside, Lily’s bones hurt, the air stabbing her lungs. That pain is still better than the jolt in her heart every time she goes through her camera roll and sees the pictures of Anna smiling back at her, looking at diner menus and shoveling snow in the driveway. Lily builds a comfortable cushion between her and the rest of the world with four shirts, a sweater and two pairs of pants. If she wraps her scarf high enough around her face, no one will talk to her, because if the person talking isn’t Anna, she doesn’t want to hear it- and she knows it will never be Anna again. Anna already asked for her clothes back, and stopped responding to Lily’s texts. Lily was chilled by Anna’s cold shoulder in their last months together, and no matter how high she sets the thermostat, her teeth still chatter when she lies down at night. In a queen bed with only one person in it, the sheets don’t get as warm. There is no feeling but cold, and the eye strain of trying to see in the dark. The empty space in the driveway where Anna’s car once stood is a black hole, a cold, dead empty space in this bleak Maine winter. This hole swallowed Lily’s heart as well. The hole in her chest cavity freezes over, and she falls when she tries to skate over it. The fall, like Anna, leaves her bruised and cold.
Prose
January, Maine