What Becomes Us

Written by Callan Latham

Together, we are not an island. We don’t say each other’s 
names as much anymore. Water collects in the bowl 
and I can’t see your face. I imagine what it would be like 

to close a fist over earth—wet and solid and digging 
into my nails. I learned that my favorite part of you is the part 

I can’t always see. We were hummingbirds back then, 
sucking up false nectar to survive the day. I want to disappear 

just so you can find me again. Imagine the future, a blood-soaked thing, 
but blood as life. We hold the fireflies in our mouths 

because we have been lightning-struck. Our hopes are of glass. 
We shatter like stones being made into something new. 

I dig into the soil, my hands finally breaking through. 
When I am at the core, I plant the seeds we will never speak of 
again. They will bloom some day, red and gold in the loneliest way.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s