Goldenrose

The river's waters flow

And the tide comes and goes,

Small and big amounts of earth’s liquid gold,

Laughter and smiles and stories untold, 

"Some say the world will end in fire." Robert Frost's line echoes in my head, quickening my heartbeat and breaths, as if I should just give up and succumb to the soils surrounding us.

my eyes look greener when i cry,

but only in the mirror.

i think i'm pretty when i cry,

but only when i'm alone.

i never wear waterproof mascara,

because i like the way the regular kind

“What happens beyond life?”

“What do you mean?”

“Like, after we die.”

“Well the point is that we don’t know.” 

“But what do you think will happen?”

I love the you that you are when you are alone, 

The you that you are when you’re at home, 

When you look with soft eyes at the cat, 

The you that you are when you step onto the doormat. 

She imagines the universe, 

the world suspended in midair.

Before, nothing except possibility even existed. 

The Milky Way, Earth, evolution–shimmer and dematerialize.