I imagine thick velvet curtains
ensconced in the veins of my eyelids
when I lay curdled like a fetus under covers
heavy to hide myself from problems I know
and do not know the layers fold in on each other
embrace in awkward family reunion side hugs
with relatives nobody tries to remember
and I would like to run my fingers through the folds
listen to the secrets that spill into the soil of my soul and plant
seedlings that grow in the ways of phototropism
toward the light of my mouth hole that I’ll later
regret but I do not care to roam inside my brain for too
long when my mouth can do the talking
and my eyebrows can juggle the weight
of employing enough expression
for the rest of my traveling face rinsed
clean in the waters of a river ice-cold
infused with the harsh hymns of herons
that spread my pores open to the size of pebbles
porous to let the oxygen seep into my body
through my skin like an amphibian
holes large enough to peer through as one does a telescope
come and marvel at my museum of nerves and wet pink organs
but the river is slowly evaporating outside
and the holes scattered about my face like open olive wounds
shrink back into my skin and dot
it gently like freckles all tame and shy
when the curtain falls and I can open my eyes
sand claws at my throat and gnaws at my tongue
the air turns a gravelly and elusive spirit
in the morning fog
Allison Lee is a high school Junior in Southern California with a dedication to environmental sustainability and taking on new adventures. She is an editor for the Cathartic Youth Literary Magazine and has recently published a poetry collection titled Warped & Wilted on her personal experiences with the natural world and pressing environmental issues. When she is not reading or listening to different types of music, you can find her eating mini ice cream cones or wandering in a Trader Joes.