Vagabonds: Anthology of the Mad Ones Vagabonds Vol. 3 | Page 70

iii. [i leave behind what needs to be left]
10pm: maybe a heartbeat of me once thought i could grow into something
radiant—a drenched heartbeat no less, a lie even i could not see. instead, i
leave bound to a crescent moon, stand knee-deep in frigid waters and find
myself the universe’s quiet breath. before the age of ten, i had already
fleshed out my future in leather-bound journals, left bitemarks in between
pages. “do you love me?” i ask, and if you do not answer perhaps a distant
star will.
11pm: i tiptoe over your rooftop and hope you hear me creak with lovely
words, crack open into a geode (full breathed/honest heart/remnant of a
quandary), but know i will last less than a winter. instead of soft coos to
the child within you, you hear my disjointed knees give way / cup a
globed moon in your palm and recall my penchant for abstracting from our
corporeal world. leave me with stories of what you turned out to be; the
winter solstice moon that left you breathless years ago.
12am: there is something there, a hidden room, another series of
labyrinths, a hollow moon that cradles a heartbeat. but the future is a sea
that does not part, does not offer you a deep ocean blue, does not remind
you of puff breaths and shaky laughter. rather, you curl around the sun /
ensconce yourself in all that will encourage your growth. “only love” we
tend to whisper “only love will leave you to rot and be your grave.” every
head turns to you: do we split the moon open and revel in what we find?
maybe it is best left untouched.
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