It was
floating in space with no confines,
choking on last moments
that gouge eyes out of skulls and
leave a blood stain on the Great Unknown.
And it was
flicking the switch that makes everything
from the tacky red knobs to the cherry wood cabinets yellow.
So yellow that the room becomes a rotten egg,
its odor clinging to memories.
And it was
tumbling down on a beach
filling millions of pores with sand granules
and taking a deep breath in,
transforming lungs into cheap bean bags.
And it was
biking up a hill,
with wheels made of cinder blocks.
Pressing the pedals until bones
became honey sticking to tendons.
But it was
staring at your back,
with sun rays drenching the room,
wondering
what you were dreaming about.
Kiersa Berg is a sophomore studying Environmental Science and Creative Writing. Her special talents include the ability to untie any knot and to parallel park perfectly on the first (or second) try. On sunny days you can find her sitting in a field starring off into space with grass stained shoes.
