Jaylan Ramos | @jaylllan
Angels
And out of all the angels, you were my favorite
There's purity in the words that slip from your mouth. Even if they sit next to the lies
Your face was immaculately made, though your wings clipped and eyes weary
But you burned like the sun and I willfully would’ve gone blind watching you every day
Laughter like chimes
Touch was heaven sent
Mind was otherworldly
I fell into the longest daze with you
I never knew daydreaming like this
Every morning hopeful, every night a warm comfortable haze
But apparently, angels can break hearts too.
Through every tear, I still saw your halo
I still felt the comfort of your presence
You still glowed as if you fell from the skies that day
You were my favorite
You were my favorite
And you are still my favorite...
Delhi, New York
Caja Leshinger | @cajalesh
I keep this day sealed away in a glass jar, like the kind you catch fireflies in as a kid in midsummer The heat is just the same, the light a bit dimmer There were clouds on my legs and I crushed raspberries in my hands, felt the earth’s pulse, was dizzied by the undulating grass Anything bad is made up, make-believe, that’s what we told ourselves, with our toes in hot sticky mud It was primal, green, effortless, like playtime when you’re young We squeezed berries (are they poisonous?) between our fingers, bare backs as canvases and the juices as paint The fruit is sweeter when it’s picked with dirty fingers The sun balanced itself low in the sky, and I wondered who would catch it when it fell
a love letter to applesauce
Julieth Lara | @juliethlaraa
My dear,
lick your lips
—honey-filled,
luscious, and sweet.
It smells like the fields,
of emerald leafs
and mother’s defeat.
Wrap your hands around mine, let’s say our lullaby.
You taste of apples,
chunks of insides diced
—defeated,
but never twice.
You held her whole
and kept her cold
when a mother’s graze
was tainted
and unfazed.
You watched her grow,
devour your insides
like the fields of berries
you once called home.
No spoon to be felt,
no help to be given.
She licked you clean
with patches of
rough strawberry grass
and lined roots.
Oh you deserve the world, of emerald glass
and waxed linen sheets
—of the cities they carry you to —of aisle number two
—of the glare she gives you.
Apples to apples,
leaves to leaves,
you let her feel full
on a stomach
of loneliness
at age two.
She cleaned you whole
—no diced livers or
molten gold to be seen.
She no longer eats your insides and licks you clean.
For she grew old
and so did you,
but oh
lick your lips
and stay put,
my dear.
