Rotisserie
Do you ever think of us
of what we could be
Such a stupid girl I am
with pixie stick dreams
Saccharine decaying teeth
chattering
Always near me
but never truly
Who am I
to say such things
Eyes rolling
like dripping rotisserie
Charred
yet baby pink
We kid ourselves
lips spreading
Hearts heavy in our skulls
Throbbing truths
into finger plugged ears
Warmth
I’ll never be warm again
Warm again
I feel hollow
Knock on me
fist to forehead
fingers bent
And you will hear
the echo
vibrating off my skull
buzzing
buzzing
You are puzzled
Oh poor girl
slithers out of your mouth
I wince
for all the ways I adore you
eyelashes dipping into my pupils
broken
broken
A cracked ornament
on a discarded Christmas tree
slowly rotating on its string
Salt
Some days you go
The doorbell is broken
Sadness comes
tap, tap, tapping
Politely pressing
hard and heavy on each temple
It steals you
Fingertips tracing
My eyes fill with salt
when you leave
I have never been patient
The breeze goes right through me
when you go
I will learn
Cindy Withjack is a senior English major and writing minor at Penn State Harrisburg.
