maelynslavik

I saw a photo

Of you when you still had hair

Brown, nothing

Special, that hair was.

I forgot what you looked like

With hair that didn’t come off when you traded it

For a hat.

art is love and love pushes through.

Tears are cakey. They're extreme. Maybe that's why nobody wants to see them. It feels like you're seeing somebody nude. Can I tell you what I love? I don't know. I don't know. I don't know.

A group of girls

in a circle in the shade

talk quietly in the world

their voices rising and falling

a stream of consciousness

pulling from their minds

memories of the day before.

A whistle

a ball

vermont is a half-finished poem with all the lines scratched out. 

grandfathers who’ve lived here their whole lives still talk of leaving, 

it is november now which is unbelievable

because last night we got blisters on our feet running

house to house in too-small rainboots, our wings

flapping lopsidedly behind us. it rained on and off