Vol. VIII

Twig

WRITTEN BY BONA PARK, COVER ILLUSTRATION BY SARAH MCCROREY


Sirens are wafting on

Brattle Street.

The building’s gone

into the black.

Like our love, it went

Crackling like crushed

Garlic.

Will-o’-the wisps,

things come and go.

Don’t you know

The heart is a well-oiled

Hallucination?

Once we were plump,

Refined, shimmering.

But unzipped now, we’re just

twiggy sawdust.

Idle Toms and

Tinas in an endless game of gaze

And conceal.

Time has left us skewered, masticated,

But no more lingering in that joint.

Toss me out now.

Take me to the greenery.

I’ll go hunting for

Double rainbows.

Dip into the past:

Games of solitaire,

Coppertone smells,

Badly permed hair.

Still perforated, perhaps.

But

Gone are the droplets, sis.

I’ll doze off and blink some.

And soon,

limbs will graze again.