A faded Frisbee

Scarlet, crimson, maroon,
But let’s face it, no one really knows what is going on with maroon.
Leaves of this present fall.
Countless flickers in the corner of your eye
As they drift to the ground without a sound.

The blood that comes out of your cracked knuckles
During the winter that makes everything go brittle.
Those rainboots you think of fondly,
Recalling all your childhood adventures.
Masters of the sea, the culverts, the art of creating an unsinkable vessel. 

The lipstick that sits at the bottom of your drawer.
A real statement.
You’ve never been brave enough to wear it in the world. 
Sometimes though, you put it on just before bed, 
Just to feel alive. 

Illusive koi fish you strain your neck to see
In the deep ink that swallows the slimy creatures.
That feeling of surprise on your tongue 
After you bite into a pepper you could have sworn was safe.
Holly berries against the snow, 
A warmth that melts away the surrounding winter. 

A faded Frisbee,
Visible, but alas,
Forever out of reach.
Its bright contrast against the dull barn roof mocks you constantly,
Silently. 

The sad looking party hat,
Forgotten after the cake frenzy ensued,
Left to be crumpled a moment later,
As a tired mother stuffs it into the trash. 

Brave,
Bold,
Angry. 
Strong,
Crazed,
Manipulative, 

The tinted morning sky
Projects a soft salmon onto everything the sun touches. 
The air smells smoky. 
A flicker in your eye causes you to whip your head,
Only the Frisbee you see, and then sigh.

Mary Bosco

VT

17 years old

More by Mary Bosco

  • Phoebe They Call Her


    An interesting specimen
    Pink but not slimy,
    Toes with no hair, 
    Eyes without yellow.

    A small one as far as I can tell.
    The big ones are loud
    And never playful.

    Phoebe they call her.
    Phoebe.