by Gabriella Mather

Without Fire

Bleeding endlessly

against already-browned sheets

remembering whole skin

like

petals or fins

either falling or rippling

either nature’s or man’s;

then, like wheels turning in the wind

swayed by spring’s cool storms

hardened and pacified,

you lashed my mind

and I could not respond.

Torn brain matter clouding,

running rivulets down already-brown hair.

Our lips

met anyway, every day,

—a truce

in between the bleedings.

Collapsing myself, I crumble vows

like old newspapers

while cornflower-blue eggs pop in the heat.

You took me out of the sun,

you scorned me

like winter

without fire.

---

Mental-logical Difficulties

The interrogation of a teenager begins—

I love you, but…young lady…Under our roof.

Hacking out hackneyed clichés

having lost any wealth of meaning.

The expected expertise of a parent

means little to her.

She who never knows what she wants—

but knows precisely what she doesn’t want.

The implication here:

she doesn’t want her inaptitude on display.

Ritalin doesn’t do homework.

Methylphenidate.

Meth-ill-fen-i-date. What a malicious turn of events—

a ludicrous belief that wealth

is some sort of savior. Dr. Spock knows

the pendulum swings on psychopathic wings

Sy-ko-path-ick. Violent social behavior.

Violet so shell beehive your.

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Gabriella Mather has recently graduated with her B.A. in English with a concentration in Creative Writing at the University of South Alabama. When she’s not learning about Princess Olga of Kiev and writing poetry, she enjoys playing piano, cooking international food, and spending time with her family. She hopes to obtain a Master’s degree in the near future, preferably as a reading specialist.