THREE POEMS by ARDEN WILL
4/9/19 (The Nothing)
Another week passes me by in a lazy yawn. Pink skies are intermittent and long hours of sun are inferred. Blurry droplets of rain dot the car window, the breeze from the AC freezing my legs. Everything is fuzzy. I find myself smiling, unprompted. The other day SJ made me laugh, completely prompted. It still came as a surprise when it happened—the sound turning into sparkle, or something like it. Life has become rides home from the grocery store. Pancakes and peanut butter and hot showers. I stop feeling guilty that I am behind glass, watching the world in successive shatterings. There is nothing within me that should be afraid of the unknown and now I can finally say that I have freed it. The Nothing. I can relieve it from the shift. Start a novel filled with pages of characters doing nothing but sitting in chairs or staring out of hotel rooms. There is such beauty in living like that. That first breath when tired. You must be so tired. I am; I rest. Another week passes by and I let it pass. I pass things by with it. I yawn lazily alongside it.
4/21/19 (The Light)
I once was lost and then found for a few seconds
under the haze. It was laughable, really.
Me with the sunrise. Me alongside the glow.
One thing I learned to appreciate is trees.
Then the light falls down on them.
This becomes warm. comfortable. unafraid of space.
When it’s too much I suck the cold air. Return
through banishment. Spend hours thinking of wasting.
Pace, repeat. The words are with me, and I am not.
All those poor green leaves. All those gorgeous days.
I want to do unto myself as my dog would do
unto the orange tabby cat that lives next door:
Take the discovery, what the light falls down on
and scream in no direction, until it is found again.
4/24/19 (The End)
I am always having the worst day
while everyone else is having their best.
When beautiful strangers visit them,
dancing in and out of homes,
my house is crumbling in on itself
in the tarnished name of familiarity.
(It has always been like this.
their joints ache and their bodies shiver
when I thank God for the rain.)
Sometimes I think, when the world does end,
I'll probably be falling in love.
arden will/price/columbia (he/they) is a poet composed of many names and some persuasions. they are the author of 11 shitty astrology poems, and have been published in magazines such as warning lines, fifth wheel press, delicate friend, and more. you can find them rambling about their favorite things on twitter @ardentlywritten.