published as poetry in Ink Lit Magazine issue 26, Spring 2024.
I straightened up
my neck, folded
into the pillow,
warmed and beckoning—
my back bridged,
and I unlatched,
eyes covered by
fabric and blind-
siding under my
own weight,
shifting, aching,
and doubting— how will
we succeed
if doomed
by fate.
I want to live in your arms
and stand still, unmoved,
bouldered, shuttered, and
enclosed, want to wait and
become a sculpture, lovers
entwined; the kiss; a picture
formed from volcanic ash
and seared into time’s forever
memory, outlasting the end,
but we—I—am so young,
too young to grow old
or to imagine growing old
and so I must
wait
and rely on faith!
but
ask
still,
till when will we remain?
Shea Winters 