melting snapshot of my mother - poetry by Maya Renaud-Levine
Found at the kitchen sink where I left you
And the faucet, heads bent together
In steely respect. A reflection of arched neck - faucets,
Like swans. Loneliness giggles from the single cup drying
Tears, in curls of blue paisley. Patiently drying
Between rows of iron ribcage. Creases line your
Fingers - rills carved riverbeds of skin.
Erosion of self. Palms cupped in flooded
Prayer - murmuring church bells, silver and china.
Peel away until you’re left with hollow scraps -
Ribbons of corium and incomplete truths.
Maya Renaud-Levine is a sophomore at Beacon High School, born and raised in Brooklyn, New York. She sings in a chorus, plays the piano, goes for long walks with friends, inhales crime novels, and generally makes it very difficult for herself to find time to write. Poetry is a newfound passion. This is her first publication.