As you watch the sun set into the Pacific from your picnic blanket on the rocky shore, head resting on a driftwood log, the sky becomes a spectrum. Bright pink around the sun's edge, dark blue above the tree line. People point at features you cannot see. Their confidence makes you look anyway. They see something up there for themselves, something that grounds them— a tether. Some point toward pink, some blue, some in between. You keep looking, but it’s all opaque.
Tag: Poetry
a bedroom
a body on the floor a pool of blood on the carpet spatter across the frame of a picture someone in a robe with a diploma a chair in the corner under a pile of shirts and jeans spatter across an unkempt bed grey comforter with teal bedsheets a dresser messy with articles and pens necklaces and earrings spatter across a full-length mirror the post-it note affirmations along its edge a body on the floor under a thin white sheet
Starting Over
Each section is based on the Oxford English Dictionary’s word of the day from October, 2022.
I. light head, n. and adj.
Today is a new day. I’m going to turn it all around. Roll out of bed, complete a yoga routine with my phone propped against the lamp on my nightstand. A quick shower, a quick breakfast that I eat on my way to the bus stop. Nothing is going to stop me.
II. per fas et nefas, adv.
Headphones in as I approach the stop. No one is going to ruin my day. No one is going to bring me down. Lizzo will keep me afloat.
III. downpressor, n.
Bus pulls up, everyone files on, backpacks knock against each other, people, doorframes, seats. Bus driver’s voice mumbles through his expectations. It’s early enough that people quiet down for him, but I leave my headphones in, wait for his voice to stop, the bus din to return, the yellow dashes in the road to scroll by underfoot.
IV. alieniloquy, n.
The thing about the lines on the road is that they’re hypnotizing as they fly by. An intermittent, off-yellow flash carries your mind to some elsewhere without dimensions in time or space. And when they end at the parking lot’s edge, you suddenly remember you have to go to first period.
V. bobsled, v.
Hallways are full of bodies— a current pulls me right to Ms. Acevedo’s classroom. I don’t remember moving my feet.
VI. rhubarb, n. and adj.
Throat’s tight. Swallow the past, Tori; this is a new chapter. I put a smile on my face convincing enough to fool everyone at my cooking station.
VII. lightning bird, n.
I’m holding steady until he enters the room. His hair curling under the edge of his hat. A jolt in my chest— why do I want to cry and smile at the same time?
VIII. dump cake, n.
I look down at our counter, can’t look up, need to forget he’s here. Ms. Acevedo gives instructions; I don’t hear them. Shay does, assumes the role of our group’s leader. She tells me to measure and pour baking powder, salt, flour in a bowl and stir. I see his face in the powdery mountain range.
IX. dunnish, adj.
Eli asks if I’m done mixing. I nod and xe dumps my bowl into xyrs, mixes. I look up, the room’s colors seem to be on a dimmer switch— it looks like the sky an hour before thunder.
X. folx, n.
Ms. Acevedo address the class about over safety protocols. Shay and Eli discuss how to decorate our cake. I sneak a headphone through my sleeve to my palm, rest it against my ear. Hayley Williams yells about misery.
XI. ice blink, n.
The bell releases us to the sea, a long voyage to our next classes. Stare ahead at nothing; looks better than watching bow waves collide. Mr. Persson’s display for the Revolutionary War overwhelms his end of the hallway.
XII. birdscape, n.
Respite among war stories, since he’s in math class. I can stretch my wings, restart the new me.
XIII. bodgie, v.
New Tori writes her notes in cursive. New Tori nods her head while someone talks. New Tori asks questions during lectures. New Tori has her shit together.
XIV. chugalug, v.
I drink from my water bottle throughout third period, which helps me focus on geometric proofs— tonight’s homework. I get in the zone, my homework finished, ten minutes to spare, an empty water bottle. I ask Mx. Archer to go to the bathroom. They tell me to go fast.
XV. mediocritize, v.
You are never going to change. There is no “New Tori.” You are the same piece of shit you were yesterday. You are alone for a reason. It was obvious he’d leave. You are deluding yourself into thinking anyone would like you. I scramble for my headphones, play the loudest Sleater-Kinney song I find.
XVI. spreathed, adj.
I feel cracks spread across my arms as I enter the bathroom. They become deep, wide; demons rise from the dark crevasses. I feel the boiling spittle drip from their open maws, their claws pierce my skin as they push off to take flight. It burns and I scratch, hoping my nails bury them alive, but they keep sprouting like weeds in an unkempt garden.
XVII. ignorantism, n.
Shay enters the bathroom as I leave, gives a small wave, looks at my arms— radiant pink, thin scratch marks all over my forearms. She tilts her head, her brows concerned, starts to ask a question she doesn’t have words for. I tell her I’m okay.
XVIII. monkey bear, n.
I don’t know why I can’t calm. Why is it so hard to stand still, to quiet the thoughts that clash in my head like marbles against a mirror? I watch the branches on the tree outside Mx. Archer’s window sway in the wind as the bell rings. Everyone gets up and leaves robotically, but I just sit there, unable to look away.
XIX. dark thirty, n.
I see it clearly still— the madrone branches dripping into the sound as we sat in the bed of his truck, watched the sky above Vashon turn pink. My hand in his, a blanket between us and a cloudless sky. He poured coffee from a thermos, told me he loved me. He said he’d never hurt me.
XX. amoretto, n.
I was warm then; I thought it boundless. I wrote his name in different styles in the margins of my notebooks. I lost focus in every class. Doodles— abstract shapes, hearts— left on every scrap of paper in my backpack. I wrote poems, left them in his locker.
XXI. nightertime, n.
Mx. Archer asks if I want to eat lunch in their room, if that’s why I haven’t left. I shrug, nod, but really, I’m not there; I’m still lying in bed at three in the morning, looking at my phone, reading the last message he sent me to make sure I understood each word.
XXII. chuddies, n.
The chill of the metal chair on my thighs brings me back. I regret that New Tori decided her style is yoga shorts and large sweatshirts regardless of the weather outside or in. Bell rings and I’ve eaten nothing again. Frustration builds up behind my eyes; I’m supposed to be better than this now. Mx. Archer throws a granola bar at my desk, tells me to eat it on my way to class.
XXIII. gist, v.
Suffice it to say I inhaled the granola bar on the way to English. I listen to Big Freedia, need to explode to start anew.
XXIV. menehune, n.
How could I have ever thought I could start over overnight, as if it would ever be that simple? I need to confront him.
XXV. yo, int. and n.
Chemistry. That’s when I’ll see him next. That’s when I’ll tell him what’s on my mind. I spend English drafting the words I need to say to make him understand.
XXVI. drooking, n.
I stand outside the chemistry room, waiting for him to show up. I take a sip from my water bottle when I see him round the corner holding Melanie’s hand. There’s a white flash and I feel my fingers tighten into a fist, a scratch grow inside my throat. My water bottle points at his waterlogged hat and shirt.
XXVII. grrr, v.
In my chest, a beehive hit with a baseball bat, their wings bristle against my skin. I fly away before he says a word, before an adult makes me talk about it.
XXVIII. mosker, v.
What was once vibrant, warm, soured, cold and bitter as coffee dregs. My throat on fire, I heave by the mailboxes in the neighborhood behind the school. It’s over. There was never any chance. You don’t get a fresh start. You will always be the second choice, alone, a fucked up girl no one will remember.
XXIX. sabo, n.
He knew I’d be there. He knew I’d see them. He must have wanted me to see them together, to see how he’s moved on already. They’re probably laughing now at what a fool I am to believe there was any possibility of reconciliation, to believe I am worth anything to anyone.
XXX. ablepsy, n.
My vision gets blurry, goes black. I sit on the curb, dig my headphones out of my pockets. My phone trembles in my hands; I can’t see the screen, can’t make the sounds to activate Siri. Silence envelops me. I drop my phone, don’t hear it hit the asphalt. My breathing becomes muted; my chest heaves, but there’s no sound— no air. I don’t know what to do.
XXXI. jack-o’-lantern, n.
A light, an arm's length away, appears, slowly retreats. I reach for the light, a face amongst the dark, which welcomes me, accepts me. Why is it leaving? I reach, lose balance; my palms, knees slam the road. Pebbles make homes in my skin. The light fades like the sun over the horizon. I evaporate as mist in the void.
You get to work early.
You get to work early, pull up into the school’s empty parking lot. Three street lamps shine their pale glow onto dark asphalt. The sun hides behind some blue-black clouds behind an oft-forgotten portable. Your car eases into the same spot you always park in: five east of the planter with the sword ferns. Its door makes a soft sound as you open it; it sounds like how you feel when you stretch your quad after a jog. You walk across the lot, travel mug of coffee in hand. Crow caws echo off the brick facade of the school, a faint twee from a tree behind you. You stop, stand in the middle of the asphalt sea. Late October. It’s cold— not heavy-jacket cold, but hug-your-ribs cold. After a minute or so, you start walking again. You get out your key, slip it in the lock like a dagger into your victim’s back. You think about how improbable it would have been to actually pass the stealth check. You smile, shake your head, go inside.
Always Empty
Each section is based on the Oxford English Dictionary’s word of the day from September, 2022.
I. ghost hunt, n.
There’s just something missing on the battlefield. The thrill of the kill is there, the electricity of bloodlust, but iron helmets, visors hide their eyes. I want to watch the waves calm within their irises.
II. beeline, v.
In the old days, I’d strike from a shadow, dagger to throat. I could feel the tremble of their larynx on the blade’s edge with my fingertips.
III. tots, n.
There’s a big celebration at camp after our victory in battle. My steps through blood-soaked dirt become steps through drunken soil, potatoes float in puddles of wine and ale. They toast me as I pass, slurred cheers of “Captain!” I feel so empty.
IV. fabulism, n.
There was a future in my head when I started down this road. It did not include power, status; it included revenge.
V. leading light, n.
A singular ember in my chest — A dense anger. A vision of their bodies, rivulets of blood over the edge of our bed.
VI. endarkenment, n.
Their corpses felt me empty. The rush of the kill from a just vengeance, did not fill the void. I left town, got a job doing the only thing that made me feel alive.
VII. amazake, n.
A soldier hands me a chalice of some drink or other as I enter the captain’s tent. A strategist from the capitol holds up a communication scroll bearing the king’s face. He congratulates me on the victory, rambles about honor and other shit he knows I don’t care about.
VIII. Monogyne, n.
When you hold someone’s light in the palms of your hands, get to choose when and how you clench your fist, see it rise like steam between your knuckles— that is power. That is the feeling of control, of being alive.
IX. altaltissimo, n.
Does this dude ever take his crown off? When I bound my fate to his, I didn’t anticipate having to listen to his incessant blathering after every victory. It’s not even for me— it’s for the nobles who believe his brother suffered a fatal heart attack.
X. anjeer, n.
I look at the palm of my glove while King NeverShutsUp tangents to lofty goals for the next year. It’s stained with dried blood— mine and others, probably— I don’t remember when they were washed last. It looks like a noble’s robe would after a festival, covered with remnants of spilled wine, fallen fruit— trophies.
XI. rachmanism, n.
The strategist drops the scroll when he applauds for the king as he talks about defending the freedoms of his subjects. This behavior is beyond me. ‘Freedom’ and ‘subjects’ don’t seem like complimentary terms, but I don’t collect tax revenue, so what do I know.
XII. sibsomeness, n.
Sometimes, I fear what will happen to me if the king has his way— peace comes to the kingdom and he no longer needs me or my protection.
XIII. nash-gab, n.
The king asks questions about the battle after the comm scroll with his head has been properly restored. My answers are short, my nods curt. I wonder what it would be like if he didn’t fear me or he actually cared about the details.
XIV. deliverology, n.
I met the King when he was a prince in a tavern on the outskirts of his territory. Peasant clothes to hide his nobility or feign camaraderie, a pint in his hand. He slurred through ways the kingdom could be better under his name. Cheers and ale bounced off the walls with his exclamations. I asked what he was willing to pay.
XV. xennial, n. and adj.
In the predawn dark, he was torn between the traditions of his older brother and the ideals of the youth in his bones. But he saw it, for a moment, in the flickering candlelight: the crown on his head, the power in his voice. He offered piles of gold, a legal pardon; the future boredom was palpable. He stammered, sweat on his temples. I asked for a seat on his council, command of his army. He thought me a mindless killer. We shook hands.
XVI. psionic, adj.
He never asked me how I got rid of the king. People don’t like hearing the details of shadow magic, especially, I assume when your power would be questioned if anyone ever found out. I use it on the battlefield still: pits that swallow squadrons; shadows that consume brains, flood the whites of their eyes. After our first victory, he asked me how it was done. I told him, “Like before.”
XVII. segotia, n.
The king closes his address by inviting us for a feast at his castle. The strategist accepts the invitation for both of us: a knee jerk reaction. The king’s face fades into the off-white of the scroll. He looked excited to see the people he considers his friends.
XVIII. bird dog, n.
The road back to the city is long. Soldiers practically skip in anticipation for a warm welcome home, feasts with their families. I keep seeing faces in tree bark— faces I’ve seen before, ones I haphazardly sent into shadows before the king found me.
XIX. requiescat, n.
Part of me remembers my wife— the way she’d knead sourdough with the heel of her hand, singing a melody in the morning light. I miss her then, want her soul to feel peace. But then, I see her fingers entangled in the hair of someone else: the alchemist with smooth hands; a thick, braided beard. I see their slit throats, their blood pooling on a bed I could never return to, and I wish her soul pain.
XX. parapublic, adj.
The king’s army is made of young men who break rank as we travel through a village outside the city walls. Rundown buildings, families in tattered clothes, who anticipate their return, who worry about and love them.
XXI. adyt, n.
I don’t stop them from running to the open arms of their families. I don’t force them to walk through the city to the castle. I don’t subject them to the king’s lengthy speeches, empty accolades. I don’t pressure them to eat mediocre roast in the king’s dining hall. That’s a job for me.
XXII. binge-watching, n.
Does this guy ever shut up? It’s astounding he’s capable of eating any food while moving from story to story. Is anyone even listening?
XXIII. sharenting, n.
I look between family portraits which line the walls of the dining hall. So many stoic children forced to stand at attention in perpetuity. Would it be so bad if someone pruned this tree?
XXIV. garbler, n.
A tendril of shadow coils around my boot, slithers over dried blood. I left a sham marriage just to enter into the cage of power. Misery and emptiness follow me like anchors slogging through loose sand. The shadow is hungry. I am hungry. My fingers twitch, nails ready to dig into flesh.
XXV. nosey, v.
Pay attention to the small actions: the way he flicks his wrist, talks with both arms, saunters across the hall. There’s information hidden there that’ll help identify his weak spots, expose patterns he never talks about. That’s what I need to kill him.
XXVI. stepford, adj.
The castle guard wear similar armor— shiny, the king’s sigil on the breast strong, but inflexible, slow. They go through rigorous training, all of them, mastering the same techniques, exposing the same weak spots.
XXVII. pretenture, n.
Humans build to keep out enemies, but shadows flow over them with ease. Yet another example of overconfidence, misunderstanding of our world’s nature. I slip along the lines of mortar between the castle’s stone, let threads of void ensnare the guards, flood their eyes with visions of tortured, mangled bodies.
XXVIII. melpomenish, adj.
The king’s chamber is filled with garish trinkets— objects to look at, no utility. Under thick quilts with intricate designs, his snores mix with the fireplace’s crackling. No challenge. I envelope the flame in a shadowy blanket, knock a goblet off the mantlepiece for the drama. His shoulders shift, a bleary investigation. His face when his eyes fell on me— exquisite.
XXIX. anonymuncule, n.
He begs, pleads for his life, offers riches, titles, land. He says they’ll find me out, whisper my name in every corner of the kingdom. Even in death, he just never shuts up. I grip his heart in a shadowy fist, feel its rhythmic tremors. I squeeze until it finally stops, until he’s finally silent, until the waves in his irises become stagnant pools.
XXX. leso, n.
I rearrange his body and his blankets to look like his heart failed in his sleep. Intricate patterns, expensive dyes, his quilt reminds me of the dresses my wife wore back when she was alive. And, like that, a void settles in my chest again. Always empty. All is fleeting. I exit under the cover of the dark moon.
the girl who lives in your mom’s house
the girl who lives in your mom’s house cries inside the bedroom walls when she thinks no one else is there. the girl who lives in your mom’s house tosses and turns at night, awoken by the slightest sound in the dark. the girl who lives in your mom’s house laughs at jokes she’s too young for but was forced to understand anyway. the girl who lives in your mom’s house stares into the bathroom mirror, not recognizing who she sees. the girl who lives in your mom’s house walks from room to room looking for you.
All Motions Seen, Illusions Done
A scholar, old and dead, once said that all is fire, in motion like a river’s flow. A thrown-out match ignites the undergrowth and trees to wrap the sky in ashen shawl. The wind will force the rising smoke to crawl and cover meadows with the sun’s dull glow. The soil is fed by fallen ash and snow. The molecules we live in do not stall. One must be warm if all is made of fire, but every moment is a photograph and time the thumbing through to make them run. To walk a yard, you must walk halfway prior, and half of that, and half, and half, and half… And so: all motions seen, illusions done.
A Gap Where You Used to Be
Each section is based on the Oxford English Dictionary’s word of the day from August, 2022.
I. dining room, n.
Long, rectangular table. Six chairs, all taken but one— yours.
II. administrivia, n.
I know you know what you’re doing, and you know I know you’re capable of caring of yourself, but you also know I worry.
III. hanbok, n.
I remember when they announced your name— you walked across the stage, they gave you a case for your diploma, you shook your principal’s hand. I was so proud of you.
IV. railipotent, adj.
So, why don’t you talk to me anymore? Was I so bad to you? Raising you the way I did? You’re grown up at college now and don’t need your mother?
V. belukar, n.
I guess— I just thought— I know we didn’t talk much for a while, but after moving out, maybe you’d reach out more.
VI. clear-cut, n.
There was something in your eyes when we said goodbye to you after helping you move into your dorm. I hoped I was imagining it, but the truth lies in your silence.
VII. pinguinitescent, adj.
Do you remember the soccer season banquet when you were seven? You ate too much pizza, deciding you were old enough to fill your own plate at the buffet. The picture of you, your pizza-covered face, your coach and trophy, hangs in the living room by the window.
VIII. poddle, v.
On Sundays, we all walk to the park by the lake, with a gap where you used to be.
IX. chiptune, n.
We used to play the Legend of Zelda — well, you’d play it, I’d listen to you tell me about it — after you finished your homework. We were so much closer then.
X. dogfood, v.
I’ve tried reaching out to you several times, but deleted the message each time. Practicing each sentence with possible tones you may put on them. There are too many variables, and I don’t want to be a burden.
XI. reginal, adj.
I work all day, care for your siblings. I’ve always done my best. I deserve more respect than this.
XII. muso, n.
I drink my morning coffee across the living room from your piano. I miss the songs you’d play as I got home from work, your smile.
XIII. chipperness, n.
I put on a smile when Janet sees me examining coffee creamer at Safeway. She asks how you’re doing at Western. I tell her some vague stories, based on movies I’ve seen, and how proud I am of you, based on reality.
XIV. abacist, n.
Maybe you’re just busy with your classes, new friends. Maybe you need to stand on your own and don’t want your mom holding you down. Maybe I didn’t react the right way when you came out to me.
XV. maleficate, v.
You used to come to me for advice, until you started hanging out with that boy. All of a sudden, I was always wrong and you started building a wall between us.
XVI. fáinne, n.
I just don’t get it. I donated to that Trevor Project you always post about. I got one of those rainbow borders for my profile picture. I don’t know what else you want.
XVII. simpulum, n.
I lit a candle for you under the stained-glass window at church so that God could hear me and steer you back to me.
XVIII. buddha dharma, n.
Some may say I should act with compassion, give you time; you will reach out when you’re ready. They don’t know the pain gnawing at my ribs.
XIX. passionable, adj.
I’m an emotional person. You know that. Yes, I cried when you told me. Yes, I realize that upset you. But, it felt like the futures for you in my head died, turned to ash like those snake fireworks. It took me time to understand, but I still love you.
XX. ecopoiesis, n.
So, I may have told Janet you have a girlfriend. I didn’t quite realize it, but really, it’s easier this way— you know how she talks with the other church ladies. I just don’t think they’d be able to handle the idea one of the boys they taught catechism to is gay. You would understand, wouldn’t you?
XXI. rhyparography, n.
I was cleaning your room — I swear — and I came across an old shoebox with that boy’s name on it. I’m sorry, I looked; I couldn’t help it. It was full of notes he wrote to you. I didn’t even know kids still passed paper notes. Such beautiful handwriting of such filthy language.
XXII. ankimo, n.
Yesterday was your birthday, we had your favorite dinner in your honor, and Western emailed me that tomorrow is Family Weekend. The signs were all there: I have to drive up to see you.
XXIII. muskoka chair, n.
Your father won’t come with me. He says he can’t get time off from the hospital and also that me going is a bad idea. He was repotting the monstera he allowed to take over that chair from his garden. He just doesn’t get it.
XXIV. mamaguy, v.
As I back out of the driveway, go through the labyrinth of our neighborhood, I brainstorm what to say to you when I get there. A joke, maybe, a nickname from your childhood, when we were close. Maybe that’ll bridge the gap, since I didn’t call you beforehand.
XXV. amakhosi, n.
North on 167, I drive by the huge hill in Auburn we used to live on, the arena they built over the field your track meets were on, the bowling alley we had your birthday parties at.
XXVI. coboss, int.
405 is jammed, more than usual. Probably other families going to Western to see their kids who actually tell them what’s going on in their lives.
XXVII. dark side, n.
The signs were always there, I guess, like the absence of birds before a storm. Your first grade teacher called one day, saying you were hugging another boy and smelling his hair. I talked to you about it, thinking it was a personal-bubble misunderstanding. I should have paid better attention to what they told you in school. Why would you do this to me?
XXVIII. curatorium, n.
Anger froths like baking soda and vinegar. It was probably those grooming teachers poisoning your mind. That boy or your friends tearing you away from me. Those shady social networks with their algorithms twisting the knife. Why else would you end up this way? Why else would you stop talking to me?
XXIX. birdikin, n.
You were so precious when you were younger, so fragile— when you were my child. What happened? What went wrong? What could I have done differently?
XXX. wabi-sabi, adj. and n.
You are still my son. You are worth my time. You are worth saving. A line of dominoes tumbles up my spine. I pull over to the shoulder, put the car in park. Why do I see you as imperfect? When did I come to that conclusion?
XXXI. scooptram, n.
You don’t want to see me. I can’t blame you, because I never really saw you. On the edge of Mount Vernon, I watch cars cross the Skagit River bridge, the one that collapsed when you were young. They drive by unflinching, leave me behind.
dragging a mattress
wake up to bleary shadows. drag a mattress across the bedroom. wedge it through the threshold. lay it down on the kitchen floor while coffee brews. move to the couch when it’s ready. tell myself to stay awake. the mattress thrown askew at the edge of the rug. a rope leading from its corner to my ankle, layered knots my fingers can’t maneuver. take a sip. balance the mattress on my back with my backpack. fit it in the trunk of my car. close the door and walk around— the rope phases through the frame. lines blend with the headlights’ glow. the asphalt, visual white noise. turn the stereo up. stay awake. drag the mattress up two flights of stairs. hide it under my desk. nudge the corner in when coworkers come by to talk about weekend plans. hold firm as it pushes back. a river drone as I drag its edge across the parking lot. drive off without putting it in the car. it bounces on the road, thrashes in the wind. unharmed in the driveway. lean it against the coffee table while I eat dinner. scroll through twitter on my phone. a snake’s tail coils around my forearm, constricts. sigh, flick my thumb, take another bite.
no stars here
rain streets under water torrent of orange leaves northerly wind broken maple branches broken power lines blue glow off the main road tremor in the sky darkened homes silent neighborhood rain
M. Espinosa 