the lightness
By Charlotte Covey
it was rocks for so long. heavy
boulders on my back, face in the
dirt, thick air almost smoke. it was shards,
cuts, flower pots left broken
on the ground. it was the way you crave
the sun and then blink
when you get it. the way it blazes
in summer and chills bones in winter. it was late
nights and no mornings, wasps instead of honey
bees. it was when water spilled on
me, over my head, lost sight of
anything but blue. i found
a way out. i found a way to
paint pictures of my memories, so they can
wave hello but never haunt. so i can
swim in yellows instead of blues. i found a way
to reach the end without an ending— i am going
to be light as air.
Charlotte Covey is a senior at Salisbury University in Maryland, where
she is double majoring in Psychology and English with a Concentration in
Creative Writing. She has poems published or forthcoming in Salamander,
Slipstream, The MacGuffin, Night Train, and The Mochila Review, among
others. She is co-editor-in-chief of Milk Journal.