ruined church
no trace of the beauty that once was,
no symbol of purity left unscathed,
innocence has left these halls. dark spirits
roam free, while chains shackle souls
to the burnt and crumbling walls. pillars
have fallen across the alter. cloth tatters are
strewn throughout the scene while we watch
the weeping eyes, the slaves to darkness.
we, too, are slaves to the dark.
our sins have stolen our future;
we're captives in this unholy land.
helpless stares follow us, igniting
our senses of empathy and hopelessness.
the sun shines harshly against glass splinters
which twinkle like the eyes of someone
who knows something we do not.
much has happened here, in this
ruined refuge. we can't begin to understand.
Folded Flags
I haven't seen my daddy
since I was four years old.
I didn't get to see him
at the church where everyone
wore black clothes and cried.
He was in a box;
Grandma called it a casket.
She said I couldn't open it.
Why couldn't I say
goodbye to Daddy?
I'm sad.
Grandma says both Mommy
and Daddy are in a better place,
but why didn't they take me?
Grandma said I'm staying
at her house; she even made me
chocolate chip cookies.
The soldiers at the church
started crying when they
handed me the triangle flag.
I showed them my super fast shoes
to make them smile.
One of them said I was an orphan now,
but I don't have Annie’s red hair. Some people
came and shook my hand. They said
Daddy saved them, and they owe me.
I told them I don't have
any money, so I can't pay them back.
They just smiled.
I must have some secret cousins
because they all said we're family.
I asked Grandma what that meant,
she told me family cares about each other.
It's not blood, family is a choice.
I remember my daddy
saying the same thing before he left.
I want to be just like my daddy.
The Not So Secret Life of Me
Mandy and I were joking around when some kid that gave a new meaning to the word ‘toothpick’ walked up. “Hey, Mandy. Mind if I join you?”
“Sure, Brandon. But you'll have to put up with Claire,” she teased.
“Hi.” Right from the start, I could tell Brandon would be awkward. He later said he could tell I would be a smart aleck.
Brandon and I walked around near the end of the track meet. We sat next to a boy named Lucas that I had never seen before. “Hey, Claire, how much does an eggplant weigh?”
“Exactly three,” I replied.
He laughed. “Apparently enough to break the ice. My name is Lucas.”
“Oh, wow, Lucas. That was a real good one.” Brandon told him, just before being slugged in the shoulder. I just smiled. Lucas smiled back. Brandon rubbed his skinny arm.
After Lucas and I had our passionate disagreement with Brandon about gun rights, I ran off to go check in for the two mile. I couldn’t stop smiling the rest of the day.
The next two weeks, Brandon was constantly setting off my Kim Possible ringtone while Lucas and I never talked at all. ‘He must not have actually liked you…’ ran through my head before I pushed it back. It was such a stark contrast from what I thought would happen.
Brandon would never stop talking to me, it was one of the only constants going on in my day to day life. I carefully asked Lucas why Brandon was always talking to me. Brandon had developed a severe crush on me, Lucas said. He sent a screenshot of the conversation. ‘I'm going after Claire, stay away from her. I don't want you to mess this up.’ There was a single word attached, “Proof.” Lucas simply wanted to be a good friend and support Brandon.
I asked Lucas for his help. After that, we talked every day, throughout the day. A week in, and I was hooked. Through all of Mandy’s efforts, I forgave him for his decisions in his past. I knew I shouldn’t judge. Lucas began to tell me more and more, including everything he goes through at home.
Soon, he affected me in a way that was different than before. I rushed to my phone each time his name popped up. I abandoned whatever I was doing to talk to him. I’ll always remember when I texted him to complain about different things. I complained about his friend and about the way we didn't talk enough. Afterward, I laughed it off but my feelings weren’t completely fixed. I dug myself deeper and deeper. I became obsessed.
After school ended, Lucas got busy. He had things to do and couldn't talk to me all day long. I tried my best to keep talking to him, even while he was working. I sent Snapchats of my friends every time we hung out, just for him. He was the cliche first thing on my mind in the morning. I thought of him every hour. I dreamt of him at night.
The only thing I wanted from him was his love.
After weeks of pining over a guy that didn’t want me, my best friend introduced me to her boyfriend, who happily said, “You know what, Claire? I think we’re friends now.”
I wholeheartedly agreed. My best friend took me aside to gloat one night.
“See, Claire, I told you you could just be friends with a guy.” She was giddy and excited, I was in such a good mood I couldn’t be mad. I just smiled and thought about Lucas.
“You know, I think you’re right…” I paused as I took in her smile. “Maybe this week I just won’t talk to him, get some fresh air.”
Mandy beamed, then she paused. “I’m glad. You don’t need him. You are perfect. I just wish you’d realize that for yourself.”
It was two weeks I spent away from him. My confidence grew as I stayed alone. I essentially remade myself. Lucas noticed the change in me too. After a while, we talked at all times of the day. We spoke when neither of us should've. We became best friends.
Flinch
I try not to flinch. Over and over, the thrum..thump assaults my ears. The boards I'm pressed against creak and splinter. The worn and empty room smells like mold and decaying plants. My captor strolls towards me, the longbow still in his hands. He stands close, too close. I can smell his cologne as he touches the arrow next to my ear. I won't flinch. He grins a sickly smile and rips the arrow away from paint peeling walls. I know him well enough now to know that he's reliving the look on my face when he took me. He turns, brushing his arm against my chest. Slowly, he makes his way back over to the mark he's made on the cracking wood floors.
“You have two left. Flinch now and we start over. Or maybe I’ll just kill you.” I've stood against this assault for months. He won't kill me. He'd torture me instead. If this is what I must do to avoid the pain, I will fight. After years of being his victim, I’m determined to survive.
Thrum..thump. One left, I will not flinch. I will win. Today is mine, and he can not take this from me. He's here. He's grabbing the arrow. My breathing quickens, I can only see snippets. I focus on the sagging back wall. I can't focus. He presses against me, I do not move. If I move, it gets worse. His hands settle on my arms. I will not flinch. His breath stirs my hair before finally he stalks back. I close my eyes. This one will come closer than the others. It's always the last one. I take a deep breath. I open my eyes.
Thrum..
His curses reach my ears through the high pitch ringing that fills them. I did not flinch.
A Walk through the Woods
The birds are singing
high in the green trees.
Each step wafts the scent
of dew drops and damp dirt.
Vibrant greens poke
through each other, blending
and bleeding together,
an assault to the eyes.
My steps sink
into soft earth,
sucking at my sneakers.
The sun warms my face,
leaving me wanting
for a strong summer.
A walk in the woods
washes my world
away.
You
Sometimes I think back
to how you call my faults
the only proof I’m human,
to the way our lives intertwine,
the trouble we’ve caused
and messes we might’ve made.
I think of us being famous chefs
in your kitchen: Rachael Ray
with a little more flour in our hair.
I think back to how you mold
your fingers with mine,
to our racing hearts that seem
to synchronize. We exchange
a joke with a glance,
say more with our eyes
than words. I love
the way you look at me
when no one’s watching,
how you hold me,
the countless forehead kisses,
and the stolen breath between us.
It’s eye contact across
a crowded room,
your printed socks,
which are stupid and never fit,
the way you tower above me,
but only because I'm short.
Memory is torture.