Falling Driving over waters decorated with waste, filled with fish suspended in synthetic sludge, I prepare for the burn of fluorescent lights. Exhaust rises like ash from a white Jeep with a “Save the Earth� bumper sticker. The cloud floats above concrete structures and the branches of invasive Australian pine. On brand-new broken projectors, the spire crumbles. The fiery pixels smell like Brazilian mahogany burning. My lips release a smoky gasp and fear pushes through my throat: like the act of placing a delicate plate on an edge, ignoring it until the inevitable.
Poem by Gina Crespo Design by Erin McLoughlin Illustration by Campbell Lackey
Fall 2020
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