I look like I have a forest in my eyes
and that’s because I do; many people have
ventured inside them, breaking off pieces of
themselves to serve as a bread crumb trail to
escape my wood if needed. My thicket has
swallowed man after man after woman and I
have so many fragments of others’ hearts inside
of me I can’t tell which roots in the soil are mine
and which are theirs.
There’s a creek that runs down the center of my
body and all the water within it has been gulped
down by thirsty fingers. No amount of rain could
ever refill what was once flowing generously there.
As I’ve grown into my limbs and leaves I’ve noticed
that people have a tendency to drop matches among
my dying parts; quick to ignite and burn away any
hopes I have of blooming again there.
Lately, I’ve been mistaken for a broad expanse of
damaged land, and I’ve not the courage to tell anyone
that I am more than my scorched bark.
There are dreams I dare not dream even
when I sleep. They are mostly of you, of
what is only ever possible in an altered reality: they are of you picking out your pride
from between your teeth. They are of you
dropping on to your knees with fingernails
chewed to the bone. They are of the
spiders fleeing your chest after I cracked it
open with my fists, screaming, pleading you
to feel something for me.
Me, who can no longer dream beautiful
things about you, because you grew into the
only nightmare I ever knew.
I haven’t shut my eyes in two days // Haley Hendrick
“I’m pregnant,” Anna tells him when she comes back from the doctor that afternoon. There’s about a two second pause, and then Kristoff’s bounding across the living room, wrapping her in a hug and spinning her around, before he remembers that the whole reason she went in in the first place was an extended bout of nausea and he’s no medical expert or anything but spinning her around probably won’t help the situation. Or. Does the nausea not count anymore because she’s pregnant, or…?
“That’s…that’s…” he tries to find a word that can capture the weird, wonderful, jittery feeling he’s got building up in his chest, but nothing seems big and bright enough, so he just laughs and hugs Anna tighter.
“You’re crushing my spine.”
The usual questions follow (how far along are you; is everything okay; should we call your sister first or my mother?) along with their answers (about two months; yeah; your mom will kill us if we don’t call her immediately.)
Eventually, though, Anna twists her hands together, and grimaces.
“You…you do know what this means, don’t you?”
“Yes! Possibly?” He runs a hand through his hair. “Okay, high school health class was a while ago, so, I might need to brush up and all–”
“No, no,” she shakes her head. “Well, I mean, yeah, that. Eventually. But…a baby will mean a nursery.”
“And a nursery will mean a crib.”
“…Yes, small humans do need a place to–oh no.” Kristoff feels the color drain from his face.