What separates their grief from ours?

Research shows that elephants grieve

They have been seen to stand vigil

Quiet

    Quiet wailing 

         Into the night

              They cry for them

Research shows that elephants touch

the bones, Rolling them softly with their trunk

They shuffle around carefully, moving the dead relic

Gently

     Gently caressing

         Gently forgiving

              Gently saying goodbye

Research shows that we have rituals too

We have our prayers, our headstones and urns

Research seems to suggest that closure is healthy

Forgetting

    Softly forgetting

         Releasing their memory

              Into the endless, endless night

Research says that grieving after 6 months is

pathological, that we need to let go but field research

says that they remember; the elephants. They don’t move on

Remembering

    Forever keeping

         Forever holding that

              Memory, forever, forever, forever

Research says that they are animals. We move on.

We must move on. We are not the elephants. We bury our

dead. Research says they bury their dead. We are not like them.

Covering

    Covering them

         With dirt and leaves

              But returning and returning

Research says people don't visit as much.

We do not return, again and again, we only

Seem to do so on holidays, when we ‘should’

Grieving

    Grieving in a way

         In a way that is expected

              In a way that is unnatural

Research says we forget. We should forget

Research says elephants don’t

Research says we have been burying them wrong

We 

    Have

         Been

              Burying

                   Us

                        Wrong 

(NaPoWriMo day 9! <3)

you do not have to look 
at the moon 
to know she is full.

she is my sister, 
full 
more than full 
more than infinite 
more than 
the line between the rock and the sky

she is my sister 
so i do not need to look 
to know her feelings are 
unknown

she is the moon 
so i do not need to know 
the properties of her fullness

tonight 
tomorrow too 
she will feel 
and she will be full

as full as the sky and the rock
as unknown as the line between

I was ten when the sky cracked open, 
and fire spilled out like molten glass through the sky. 
The fair smelled of caramel and dust, 
and I was scared of how bright the world could get. 
You found me near the cotton candy stand, 

clutching my ticket to the ferris wheel like a life raft. 
And, you laughed, pointed upward, and said, “It’s just light.”

At eighteen, we unlocked the door to our college dorm,
boxes piled high with mismatched dreams.
We burned toast, studied late,
and talked about how the comet would return
when we had learned a thing or two about the world.
We promised to still be watching.

Years slipped by like songs on a playlist,
some we replayed, some we let fade.
We built our lives on different streets
but never missed a birthday, never missed a call.

   We wove our days into a ribbon that tangled through time.                                          

And, just like that, seventy-five years passed,
and the comet came again, arriving exactly as promised. 
We sat side by side in folding chairs,
the same sky glowing over our wrinkled hands.
You nudged me, grinning.
“It’s just light,” you said.

And I laughed–
because after all that time,
you, 

my very own light, 

          were right.

Author Note: I wrote this poem after hearing Billie Eilish’s “Halley’s Comet” for the first time. I have always believed that songs hold stories, so whenever I find a song I like, I look it up on Genius and read the lyrics and the songwriter’s inspiration. When I came across the name Halley’s Comet, I realized I didn’t know what it was. I searched it and learned about its history, and the idea of someone living long enough to see it twice fascinated me. This poem grew from that thought, but it also became the story of two best friends who carry each other through a lifetime, all the way to the moment the comet returns.

• I also couldn't figure out how to format the spacing properly here, so here's a Google Document with better spacing, I've been experimenting with spacing in my poetry, lately! https://docs.google.com/document/d/1gQnrFEasrtOs_p7RYfmROiIbENOPW-pyVXG…

I've spent my life dancing in between the lyrics

Like the bug avoiding humans on a summer day

I buried myself away

I tried to stay safe,

Stay calm.

Please everyone.

But you cannot please everyone without unsettling everyone as well,

You cannot stay neutral and have a favorite song.

You cannot try without failing.

You cannot sit cross-legged and let the world pass you by,

And still have dreams.

You must act.

You must fall. 

You must see another day,

And see another way,

Until your brittle bones decompose.

How beautiful!

The way it blooms

red juice dripping from

ripened fruit:

her eyes, black velvet

silver on her nails

a mouth that curls

when it says my name.

What desire! I inhale her mind

each time that I breathe

I get woozy off her words

when they're meant for me.

How tragic! for part of me knows

I will never touch her: she is the last snow,

melting slick and shimmery

and aching to go.

My brother is 4 years older than me 
And he's also 4 times better than me at most things. 

School, sports, music, art, 
Things I thought I was good at 
He would excel in. 

I was constantly compared to my "better" sibling. 
At some point, 
I became a background character 
In a blurry video. 

It felt awful to be pitted against my own flesh and blood 

But the only person who never made me feel bad 
Was my brother. 

I liked the fast, melodic songs on the viola.
He liked the jazzy ones on the bass.

I liked taking photos.
He liked drawing cartoons.

I played soccer really well.
He swam a really good butterfly and could throw a mean punch.

It turned out,
That he was compared to me too,
The "better" sibling.

But no matter how hard they tried to pit us against each other,
We knew we were stronger, happier, and practically invincible
As a team.

And now he's moving on,
Growing up.
Going to get an education.
(And acquire a crapload of debt on the way).

And I won't have anyone to fight with about the last ice cream bar
Or who ate all the Belgian waffles?
Or someone to match outfits with
Or someone who comes into my room before going out with his friends cuz he doesn't know if his fit is "tuff."
Or someone to watch Cowboy Bebop with
(Or some random other show our parents don't want us watching).

And who's gonna watch all my reels?
Who's gonna debate me on those random existential questions?
Who's gonna listen to Nujabes with me, or ATCQ, or Nas, or Kanye, or Frank Sinatra?

Where's the voice coming from the walls at 5 am
Screaming Teenage Dirtbag by Wheatus?

I'm gonna miss being doubled over in stupid laughter
Because we both keep piling onto the joke
And I can't breathe.

It's going to be really quiet when my brother leaves.
But then again,
that's life, that's life.

The snow is twirling down,

dancing down to earth one

after another; it's

April, and

it seems it should be flower petals

raining down rather

than the flakes of frozen rain;

I imagine Spring is

curled under a blanket of leaves, knees

tucked up to her chest and

shivering in her daisy dress while

waiting for the sun to peek through and

thaw the heart of Winter, whose 

stubborn fingers are refusing 

to loosen their grip;

I imagine her curled up in the nook of a tree, as

I imagine my characters curled in the palms

of my hands; I

will forever refuse to let

them go, and

I will allow them to stay until

I finally write them fairy wings so

they can fly away; but

even then, they

will always be flying in the path

of my veins, and

they will always dance in the snow.

The cardigan that my grandma wraps me in when I am cold; 

Dusty piles of cards from someone who loves me; 

Computer overheating with a two-thousand-million-word PDF scrapbook; 

Of all the little bits of stories that I pass off as my own; 

My sister's laugh; 

Peace of mind - a gift from a friend; 

Books someone loves more than me;

Light from a lamp my parents bought when I was little;

Life my mother gave me;

Jokes my father gave me;

All the hearts I've made swell;

All the hurt I've caused.

None of it belongs to me,

But it's all I've got.