Category: Uncategorized

best descriptor
not quite the same – molded
and shaped each other
yet remained
malleable and the grooves
kinda remain and are added
onto as time passes
as we change
and grow
as people? also thank you
for the journal! i’ll tell
you my favourite poem
via letter six
months from now

__________________

Poet bio –
“Holly Rowsell (she/her) is a student living in Te Whanganui-a-Tara. She is a lover of cherries
and an involuntary poet. You can find her work in Catalyst, Sweet Mammalian and Tarot, among
other journals. You can find her online via @hollyrrowsell”

My mother cries over the body of her living son.
She cries while I stand before her,
She shouts “YOU ARE GONE”
But I’m right here?

She speaks of a little girl,
Of fond memories and family holidays
But I do not remember her,
I remember me.

She says I am five,
But I am sixteen.
She tells me she loves me,
But she thinks me a murderer.

I am the man, the boy, who took away her daughter.
I killed her,
Erased her,
I left her behind.

I tell my mother “she” is not here
That he is here
That he always has been,
That he never left

She sighs.
She says I am five
I am sixteen.

You were mine for one summer
A flash in time – medicinal remedy
Of oppressive wounds from an oppressive system – two, you
Write your queer poetry
And I’m proud to be yours

Calendula summer stuck
With sickly sweet sap on my weathered fingers
Two thousand miles but I miss you so –
Your wannabe marigold

Marry, grow old, never to be, the sun –
Setting, a memorized calendar reminds me
Of my medicine turned weed
In the northwestern sun

Calendula summer harvested
The pieces of me, the pieces of you
As we sheared off the stems
By degrees we wilted away
And buried intertwined roots
Perchance to return
Next spring

Lifeless words penned by blood
Left to rot before the blind and sightless
Darkness consumes my mind
Burning whatever light remains
I curl up alone in the storm
And hold myself like a mother would
Hateful and cursing, I’m bleeding
Bitter and broken – I can’t stand the silence
It’s turned on me like a childhood friend
Ripped through my spine and left me crippled
Left me cold and afraid
Of the shadows that lurk under my bed
Desperate, I chewed off my tongue
Cut off my hands to stop them leading me astray
But still they whisper in my ear, plaguing my thoughts
Their wet laughter loud and hollow
I can’t fight them anymore
I’ve no more blood to shed
Yet I fear their presence even in the afterlife
Their ugliness branded on my name
Where can I go?
Where will I finally be free?

On top of the hill, a lone tree stood still.
Once vibrant green turned into a bleak scene.
Years weathered its bark, it now stands in the dark.
Yet, within the cracks, a story embarked.

Within its branches, life found its way.
Moss embraced its limbs in a verdant display.
Birds nested within its crest.
New life thrives in the tree’s next quest.

Deadwood now nurtures a newfound host,
as fungus slowly gnaws and breaks free at the post.
A sanctuary born from the tree’s demise,
Fostering a safe haven for life of every size.

On top of the hill, a lone tree stood still.
Life found purpose, a new way to provide service.
No longer taking up space, it moves on with grace.
Welcoming the next phase at nature’s own pace.

Out there in the bleeding orange
Light stands like soldiers in the coming war
Holding hands as the blade passes between them
Little slivers of pain and progress
Slicing through the agony of meadowlarks
Remember the days when there was dark in the nighttime?
Black and void and pure because of it
The lumens keep marching
Cutting along the highways and the homeless
The little hands creeping up the mountainside skirt
Dirty fingernails scratching sagebrush thighs
The spires are littered with electric trees
All the wannabe kings and queens walking hard up the foothills
Searching for their moneyed homes, their skyline view
The deer retreat, or make new homes under bird feeders
The sun is tired
Tomorrow there will be no darkness to let it sleep

How did I get here
In a place so barren
Barefoot, standing in coals
Wandering, while flesh burns
And denying it hurts
Dark love molded me unrecognizable
Clinging to the very thing that ails me
This relationship that wafts of rot
Molded at the core
How can it be
Turning from self in pain
Heart’s capacity to withstand the unbearable
And stay, still, stuck
A dead tree whose roots sink deep
Down, down into the abyss
To hell took a journey
Heat rising, like time ticking
I couldn’t feel the sting
Edges crisping slowly
Until I’m engulfed in flames
Red hot with anguish
I called it by another name
Not amour, or grit, or strength
All what’s soft withered away
Until the squeals halt to silence
And the last crackle pops
The final fleeting song
So just the shell is left
Shadow of a woman
Soot of grey and black
The ashes of hopes and dreams
Fall to my feet infront of me

I was painting the flower just
as bees arrived
circling my head
buzzing

and rushing
to the flower
sucking its nectar
sucking

and sucking
until
just a sketch of a flower
would be left.

If you come down from heaven
Bet your gonna find
I once was a lost angel
Now I am on your side
Just let me on thru the doorway
My heart is keeping time
I hear the graceful trumpets
Calling me on down the line
Walk with me by the river
Let the sunshine shine
Dip me in the holy water
Never felt so alive
Clothe me in white linen
Tongues of fire on high
Got some bread in the oven
Spirit starting to climb
There is a dove in the window
Brings joy to my eyes
He’s got a little song he sings
He sings it all the time
When you’re brought to the table
We shall drink up the wine
Light for me a candle
It’s my time to fly
If you come down from heaven
Bet your gonna find
I once was a lost angel
Now I am on your side

A leaf in my coffee, a twist in the day,
How did it land there in such a strange way?
Moments so simple, but never quite right,
A sign of the chaos tucked out of sight.
I smile at the mess, though I’m tangled within,
Pretending it’s fine, where do I begin?
The rainbows look lovely, but clouds often form,
And behind every win, there’s the weight of the storm.
So I stir the leaf gently, watching it spin,
Much like the thoughts that swirl deep within.
Perhaps it’s a sign, a small metaphor-
Even in chaos, there’s more to explore.