Poems: Mouthful of brine, sunrise

Brine_Azcarraga_Weekender
Alvaro Azcarraga/Staff

Mouthful of brine, Eda Yu

i.

“I fucked her, but I love you still.”

you are

echoes of soft laughter

under white duvet covers,

the many syllabled-broken promise of an ex-lover,

a gray, oversized shirt i’ve tried on for size

one too many times.

you are

heavy earth,

like your star sign,

no longer the gentle shade of morning’s sigh,

a drop in our

puddle of a hurricane

etching down my windowpane,

five fingers on the small of my back to get me to stay.

you were the one who asked me to leave, sweet.

ii.

“sometimes, I wish I had never broken up with you.”

i am

unmeant words and scratched-out notes,

every sloping “and”

in all our old love poems,

daydreams at seventeen in

a california cloud-traced sky.

i am

light air,

governed by mercury’s mind,

a ray of sun you tried to jar

for your navy-hued night,

drawers filled with all my missing things,

a hothouse flower which in your arms could not thrive,

a lion’s battle cry.

i never said i wanted to stay, dear.

iii.

“everything with her just made me realize how special we were.”

we are

broken records,

unreliable connection,

static

in silence,

an apology,

two people tired of coming together just to leave.

drawers filled with all my missing things,

a hothouse flower which in your arms could not thrive

 iv.

“I only hope that”

if one day,

“one day”

you come to me,

“we can be what we were again.”

looking for a forever that once made up our days,

palm and five fingers outstaying their welcome

on my eighth vertebrae,

my answer is this:

i never said i wanted to stay, dear.

v.

“no.

i will not come back.

i will never come back.”

you hurt me

three bones beneath the ribcage, and

we are not worth

an ounce more

of my beautiful words, just

a soft epilogue and

a mouthful of brine.

Sunrise, Kate Wolffe

I live in Berkeley but originally

I am from the other side of the hill

Right next to my childhood home is this beautiful ridge, from it I can see the sun rise over Mt. Diablo, see it set in the direction of the city

I would spend countless nights and mornings there, soaking in the wide open space

Made coffee-addled choices to the sounds of songbirds

Grew convinced that the autumn heather in the 5am wind would carry me away

When I moved to this place,

I felt this disparity between the days

They seemed shorter here, full of melancholy

I realized that, blocked by the hill, the sun only shows it’s face halfway through:

My first year felt like a permanent afternoon.

It was golden purgatory until I could return home

Made coffee-addled choices to the sounds of songbirds

Grew convinced that the autumn heather in the 5am wind would carry me away

I relish the morning, but

This city is built for the sunset

Pushed up against the water, we are hostages to it’s daily display

Stolkholmed to think there is little more beautiful than dark pink clouds over the Bay

The preparation is too much, in those seasons it always seemed as if the evening were ominously approaching

The soft morning was never there to repair us when it’s time came

It was only when I called my mother, as you do when you are afraid of the dark, that I got clarity, her saying:

“Darling you do not need to be there for when the sun rises

It is enough to know that it does

Watch for the lightening of the sky

Have faith in the morning,

And enjoy the coming of night

Take advantage of your position now, it is the best of what you’ll know

And return home once in  awhile to see them both”

“Darling you do not need to be there for when the sun rises

It is enough to know that it does”

My relationship with the sunset is improving

But I am still homesick for its rise.

Contact Eda Yu at [email protected] and Kate Wolffe at [email protected]