Your thick water brushed against me
from behind. Covered me in sweet sodden lawn
of smoky talismans. Omens
of fortune. Premonitions we didn’t need. Tools
for knowing things we already saw coming. Don’t
When clouds blew you this way, to the island,
you packed wrong. Elbowing smog
in the city, you had no way of knowing
what you would need
in the calm
We don’t know
love, but we’ll continue to stand on its edge.
Some open, some closed. We will know
the glimmer of moon and day
light on the water. Because we saw it touch down.
But the state of your heart, is up to you,
Take your small horse, where he will be safe,
among other impossible things. Swim away,
with an extra daisy chain,
and don’t look back.
Molly Thornton is a Seattle-based writer raised in the Southwest. She is influenced by female friendship, queer love, and life’s gritty magic. Her work has appeared in The Leveller and the Seattle Globalist. She was recently a finalist in the 2016 Gazing Grain Poetry Chapbook contest. She is a graduate of Artist Trust’s 2016 Lit EDGE program and a 2016 Lambda Literary Emerging Writers Fellow.