Editor’s Note: “Resolution” seemed to be the perfect theme to fit our last Monthly Contest of the year. Likewise, this piece is beautiful, profound, and wowed every member of the committee—the perfect poem to round out a great year of submissions that have brought true insight for each prompt. We hope this poem will bring you a bit of resolution, whatever it may be, as you push through the end of the semester! —Bailey Tulloch, R2 Monthly Contest Committee Head Sylvia
by Ian Morell Since July she’s appeared before me, always after the bright morning bile has settled, the meticulous coating of each tooth. Words of bone white light crackle through her fingertips, caressing my neck like blades and valium thoughts. Eyes shut I can find you dancing, swimming through jet lounges. She reminds me of you without the broken cul-de-sac tattoo. You move both time and sky the way dad used to lie and take my splinters out with a knife; you rise to fall or maybe it is all a misunderstanding like those poor lemming bastards migrating, minding their business. Her technicolor spit, a wild mix of ash and berries; and you… pores dripping soft hellfire mixing mind with action. Was it you or her at the Tremont who finally spoke-- “God. An orange hospice house is the only thing I can imagine anymore.”
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