On Tangled Threadwork

And when you look in the mirror, my darling, you

Become everything you have ever been. Whether those were

Cruel reflections or radiant observations, you’ve

Danced with the idea of love for a long time now. We are

Eager to wrap our hands around it—the knowledge that’s

Fled your mind as you’ve aged. Your heart is

Green like a daisy that germinates over and over again, even if it

Hurts itself by doing so. It’s been cracked like too many curious children have tapped the

Ice layer sitting atop the lake. They tapped it. He spun it. He

Jerked it. You know as you look that you’ve lost your magnetism—you must be

Kidding. That was all you had. And this feeling you know but refuse to name,

Like everything else in your life, the disorientation of direction lets in loneliness. Your

Mother provides security, but she cannot swing you on the playground anymore.

No, you can’t be drowning like this; what are you hyperfixating on? You know it’s

Obvious. Overthinker.

Persuasion: that’s what led your beautiful mind to a beautiful room to a beautiful type of

Quiet. Rusted away are the bubbles, lights, albums—not forgotten—just confused. They’ll

Return in 9 lines: they always do. But for now—the promise that you won’t be cold when the

Sun sets is enough. If it’s not him, it’ll be you or someone else. Tied at your feet is a

Together string. Tug, and you’ll feel a tug on the other end—a pulse

Unlike any you’ve ever known and it beats unknown to you; it’s

Vivacious and—here, you’ve removed your glasses: touch the covenant between you and the

World of tomorrow. You still have the color yellow, that

Xanthic treat—and all the wonderfully freeing senses of the familiar.

You won’t be tethered down, more bird than the flower who dwells in paradise. Be patient, that

Zeal of yours is me.

Anna DiCrisi is a first year English Literature major who dreams of one day being a published author. She grew up writing, acting, singing, eating Oreos, loving board games, and involving herself in nearly every activity she could. She spends her time enveloped by details and drawn to the contemplative unknowns of life, but who doesn’t? Unsure of whether the blank page of the future is more exhilarating or terrifying, she looks to it as she tries to look at all things—with passion and hope. She owes everything to her family and friends, whom she loves dearly.