Autumn — Annie Yang

so have we been saved,
have we been delivered?
i always told you that in 
autumn, the days curl soft
into sleepy fists that pound
at heaven’s doorstep. but now
it's autumn and i only
want to peel back its
cracked skin and lay down
at its purring heart, where meridian
melts into sticky longing. where
autumn is a clandestineness
stitched onto my lips like
a stolen promise, so we won't talk
about the way evening still
tears our silhouettes into
crying gaps on dirty cement demanding
for someone to hold. or
the way your eyes still quiver
like neonatal butterfly's wings
when you play something sad
on the piano. or 
the way i was named 
小溪 so that i would bloom
unbound, untamed like a 
summer river, but i am a river that
shatters into misshapen melody 
under your tongue when you call
me a july ghost. & it’s autumn,
so when i tell you that these
years don’t belong to us and 
that we don’t belong to them, 
don't say that time is a myth, that
light is waiting to pounce 
on us somewhere in the distance. don't say, 
it's all right. say,
shh, beloved. salvation is
not a destination, but
a prayer that descends towards forever.

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Annie Yang is a high school junior originally from Shanghai but currently living in the Boston area. Besides writing, she sings in her a capella group, does theatrical lighting design, and runs cross country and track. Her favorite piece of music is Stabat Mater by Dvorak.