A Stellar Flare of Young Adult Writing and Visual Art

Nights and Days Without You, Brother + One More




Nights and days without you, brother


I must learn to be careful—

and what I mean is

it’s the absence of you that matters,


or the idea of your absence


Yet, it all looks the same; the light

falls warmly the way it did before.

Though I wear pastels more than I use to.


Because you left me your clothes,

When you left for New York. And it’s all I can see myself wearing now.


The house is restless, but your room is still.


I know we are looking at the same stars, or the lack of them; drowned by different city lights.


But the moon is the same.


The moon you used to tell me to take a bite of each night from the window sill.

But I’m not hungry if you’re not here.

So I pinch off pieces of the moon and tuck it into napkins under my pillow,

and I will wait for you to come home.


So you can taste each night I spent without you.


After he


I kept myself to be she

who tucks secrets beneath my thighs

like words on napkins for him to find,

and lustful sounds sent dripping

in the valley of my breasts.


He used to tell me

He could never find a comparison for the constellation of freckles on my chest,

That he so commonly had mistaken

for a field of honeysuckles.


I taught myself to be she,

After he,

a wildflower in a field I laid on my chest.


About the Author

Taylor Burgin is a high school student in Miama, FL.


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This entry was posted on November 19, 2016 by in Poetry and tagged , , , .
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