Vine and Sand

he shed a line of crystalline notes
each incandescent half-step
more unexpected than the last

a high, winding vine
creeping from an unseen branch
tendrils tendering my neck
taking root within my chest

his melody sweeps into a golden desert
of glass sand and endless thirst
and hot wind slipping in and out of me

I spin on burning soles
to avoid his lashes
I claw at the constricting song
to breathe again

© 2018 Stellular Scribe

On the Accountability of an Unpublished Writer

Yesterday, my sister asked me why I was writing so much during winter break.

I told her: “I have a deadline I need to meet.”

“You don’t have a deadline,” she said. “This is all in your head. You’re doing this to yourself.”

Her response was not an unusual one. But it got me wondering: what is the difference between holding yourself accountable and having someone else depend upon your accountability?

I tried to explain to her that the deadlines I have set for myself are no less valuable than the deadlines set, say for example, by an agent or an editor. They are the liability of an unpublished writer. If I do not see myself as serious enough to meet a daily word count or to revise a certain number of pages a week, how can I ever visualize myself in the professional world of fiction?

Especially as a college student, these breaks are the most freedom I have to pursue finishing my novel, HYMNS OF SALT AND TERROR. If I don’t commit myself now, I will be unequipped to manage myself during the chaos of classes and work come February.

Yes, this is all in my head. Yes, I am doing this to myself.

Because who else will?

© 2018 Stellular Scribe

Your Body Brought the Sea

Your body brought the sea to my bed,
cloaking me as the rushed arch of a wave,
a tide suspended,
unable to break.

Grabbing onto you is like running
my fingers through the wet of a storm.

Despite the salt and surf,
you are not cold —
quivering with mammalian heat against my chest,
holding with arms of fever
and hurricane infection.

I swim for hours.
I never drown.

© 2018 Stellular Scribe