Issue 7,  Poetry

If Someday by Sarah Marquez

If someday is today, periwinkle clouds
will bow at my feet, you’ll put the moon
you promised to deliver on my doorstep.

We’ll tie the rope we made round rebel bodies 
to keep them chaste, break through rows & rows 
of witnesses, a rite of passage, bite into sponge

cake adorned in white lace. Then consummate 
the night. Entwine eight limbs moving slow in
rushing waters, aiming for safety, the home shore. 

But it isn’t. Today is today, and between us,
I see skeleton keys passing in these great fluid
sighs attending thirsty throats, unlocking alien 

roars resounding loud in my core. The one
you carved from the gray bark of the magnolia 
tree trapped in the churchyard. It was smooth

then. Now covered in craters, it mourns 
the loss of unblemished skin & flaunts 
flowers in pastel gowns at passerby to pretend

there is confidence packed deep inside,
pressed down like a fairytale tucked tight
between brown pages. But we know better.

You were the warm accent seducing my ear, 
the rough stubble rubbing my tender cheek, 
the right size to subdue five feet & eight inches 

of fear cutting open my breast with a knife. Now 
your vows, fragrance rising from free lips, float 
aimless about me, separating like split ends of hair. 

You do laps in the sky, a six-winged hawk in search 
of a sturdy branch to alight on. I stroll in your shadow, 
a sly siren singing to a heart tilled for growing time.

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Sarah Marquez is an MA candidate at Southern New Hampshire University. Sarah is based in Los Angeles and have work published and forthcoming in various magazines and journals, including Amethyst Review, Crêpe & Penn, Ink&Nebula, Peculiars Magazine and Royal Rose. When not writing, Sarah can be found reading, sipping coffee, or tweeting @Sarahmarissa338. 

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