Allison Srinaga

Allison Arinaga is a PhD student in Chemistry at Northwestern University. She has thoroughly enjoyed living in Evanston for the past five years, and EPL is her favorite spot in town. Outside of science, she enjoys creative writing, foreign language learning, and all things Pokémon. Her view on healing (whether it be physical or emotional) is that it takes as much time as it needs to, and the path is often less straightforward than we ourselves or others might expect. Still, a path always exists; we are never too broken beyond repair.

Papercut Wounds

The thing about a papercut is

It can hurt way more than you might think.

“My three-year old gets papercuts,”

Your neighbor says,

“Just construction paper falling the wrong way -

And he’s fine. Not even a single tear.”

So then,

Am I allowed to choose how much

Salt is in the wound?

Or if it’s even a wound at all?

Because that’s not what they see.

They see a slip of the hand, an “it’s nothing,”

A minor inconvenience at most.

Definitely not something I should stay up at night about

Or, God forbid, cry over.

But who are they to tell me

What can and can’t hurt

Or how thick my skin should be?

Because even if it’s just paper

And barely breaks the skin

Only someone who’s been gashed open by

The same page

Can know how deep it really cuts

And how long it takes to heal.

Bicycle Handle Bell

A broken bicycle bell knocks my hand,

its washed-out jingle dying on the handle.

It swallows me, that drowning chord,

like callused fingertips running down

the comb, or my own voice when I

can’t find it, which is most of the time.

But impact flips the bell, it’s plastic claws

hugging too loosely - not broken after all,

just in need of a little tightening.

When the Wind Blows in this City

It’s hard to be a poet these days

Without believing in anything

But sometimes the only way to find what’s lost

Is by losing everything.

When your memories start tasting sour

No matter how much you try to sweeten them

That’s when you turn your gaze back towards the future

Without trying to overtake it.

When the wind blows in this city

It reminds me of wounds

That I sewed up with a needle

When I swore I’d forget you.

But the scar that fades too quickly

Is never as gone as it seems.

When I look at what’s ahead of me

The words shed off like skin -

Dark dreams and broken wishes of another day

That captured the light again.

The path is littered with confidence breakers

And things I cannot see.

But just like a star that burns out with a bang,

I’m taking everything with me.

And when the wind blows in this city

I just try to push through

Instead of flying on the updraft

To that other town with you.

Because this is where I’ll plant my roots

Even if they don’t become a tree.