​hot days
Ella Zalon
 
 
right-side-up tidal waves shoot eyes,
they try not to patronize the red fingernails
that bleed red thoughts,
and as denim drains they hope they can
bind her legs,
twisting through craters in celestial boundaries,
entwining comets between her thighs,
she bleeds and bleeds out of follicles
and fingertips
they told her to stay grounded, so she
tried but she tried a little too hard
because one day she fell through the earth
her toes barely touching as sinking plumes
tried to save her
while she fell through
at a rapid pace but they failed
as she is now out of reach,
disintegrated and forgotten,
nobody will dwell on the thought of her existence
even she will resist smelling the memory
of blue carnations
and her mind is purged as she sinks through
this strange earth,
through its mud,
through its soil
and as she reaches the center she is a cool breeze
of the cold tap water
she used to pour over her knees on
hot days
even though her mother preached of waste,
she never felt she was being wasteful
and now,
dirt encrusts her fingers in the purest of ways,
although the indelible pen marks left in her brain
are bleeding through her skull like thin paper;
the scrapes on her knees are now rotted away
with the rest of her
but she still misses pinning flowers
on her jacket from time to time
 
 
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