By Sarah Marquez
The lipstick I wear coming out
of isolation is called Divine,
but I am not.
What I am is hard-shelled.
Able to survive hours on land,
My lips wear rose with a hit
of mauve well. Luxuriate in
50mg of CBD and rich botanicals.
It will take time to process
the bite of May, every brain cell
alert that this may be the last.
The balance, as we know it, is shifting
again. The star in the mouth
not yet bright enough.
Dear future, what do you have
planned? I am leaving the porch light on,
the door unlocked.
A welcome mat for the stranger
to rest tired feet. I keep one ear open
Tell me the flowers are arranged just right,
by the cracked window, for a light wind
to whisk away their fragrance.
Like every virtual connection we made
in the small hours–I suspect they’re
Tell me the house is still a refuge,
and the garden will still be good
to me, though I won’t remember
where I planted it.
Sarah Marquez (she/her) is an MA candidate at National University. She is based in Los Angeles and has work published and forthcoming in various magazines and journals, including Capsule Stories, Human/Kind Journal, Kissing Dynamite, Sandy River Review and Twist in Time Magazine. When not writing, she can be found reading, sipping coffee, or tweeting @Sarahmarissa338.
This piece is a part of DISTANCED 2.0.