Clara Carl
Then Gone
May unfolded in waves: A slow ache
slumping stupid promises into piles. I
was a conch shell praying for the end of
summer and he was the girl drowning in
her own pool. The sunlight: lazy, reverent.
I missed him irresponsibly, summer’s
broad shoulders a fixed point. I looked for him
in hair processor, laundry, parallel
parking. He was a pothole, wind scraping
up against my back, rain: a jolt, then gone.
For days I curled into myself. Fervent
and hollow I waited, melting into
spring puddles. I dripped backwards until twelve
days unraveled like cloth caught on a new
piercing. But still May unfolded: I cut
up newspaper, rearranged it, listened
as rain broke into heavy pieces. I
watched as it fell into itself: Droplets
disappearing into waiting puddles,
frantic as they scrambled back into each other.
Clara Carl is a student at Oberlin College, where her work has been published in various student publications. She enjoys paperbacks, poetry workshops, and unique adjectives.
Return to July 2024 Edition
May unfolded in waves: A slow ache
slumping stupid promises into piles. I
was a conch shell praying for the end of
summer and he was the girl drowning in
her own pool. The sunlight: lazy, reverent.
I missed him irresponsibly, summer’s
broad shoulders a fixed point. I looked for him
in hair processor, laundry, parallel
parking. He was a pothole, wind scraping
up against my back, rain: a jolt, then gone.
For days I curled into myself. Fervent
and hollow I waited, melting into
spring puddles. I dripped backwards until twelve
days unraveled like cloth caught on a new
piercing. But still May unfolded: I cut
up newspaper, rearranged it, listened
as rain broke into heavy pieces. I
watched as it fell into itself: Droplets
disappearing into waiting puddles,
frantic as they scrambled back into each other.
Clara Carl is a student at Oberlin College, where her work has been published in various student publications. She enjoys paperbacks, poetry workshops, and unique adjectives.
Return to July 2024 Edition