Rusty OrangesA Poem by Julianna MarieRusty oranges sit on display at the supermarket,
Aluminum tincan shoes are tossed over the electrical wire, and tied to the bumpers of newlyweds. Our skin grows moldy in contrast to our eyelashes of hay, and my hands of wet sand, molded into a sand castle. The trees, ripe with goldfish, and the children skipping to the sea to bob for apples, the frosty sun beating on their backs in the most vivid of seafoam greens. Our sky is cracking under the weight of the charcoal clouds. Volcanoes erupting strawberry ice cream, we only come out when its gloomy outside. The ground would never appear complete without the fallen leaves. Words in tickle-me-pink speech bubbles, bursting every second, mountains on leashes and children in picture frames. Wind rippling in frothy waves: a reflection of the ocean. Mirrors made of paper and ink, truths made of quilted fabric(ations)-- the smoke of your words saunters around for centuries. Rusty oranges, rusty oranges, rusty oranges-- Take a bite. Are you afraid of the whales in the sky? When the seagulls say "ribbit," and ask you for a spare fly, What will you say? The goldfish growing ripe in the tree are all waiting for their opportunity to find out who they really are, watching the mold chew away at our freshly toasted skin, they think to themselves "We are the lucky ones." We bathe in sunshine, we bask in happiness, we feel like kings. Crown us with another cardboard cutout, its all the same. And you can't take it. so you sit on your molten barstool, the bartender hands you a glass of ink and says "something for your troubles." The roads paved with gold, your teeth made of wood glinting in the icy green sunlight. My garden made of rotting extension cords, with malleable leaves of copper, growing their rusty oranges-- I have never seen anything so beautiful. © 2010 Julianna Marie |
Stats
158 Views
1 Review Added on May 11, 2010 Last Updated on May 11, 2010 AuthorJulianna MarieSeattle, WAAboutI'm a 21 year old girl living in Seattle, student/poet/barista. I believe in art, poetry, psychology, and music-- I don't think its safe to believe in much else. more.. |

Flag Writing