i am young and faceless and yet:

the future bears teeth

in the face of all that will be left behind.

choose: draining muzzle, dissociative bliss.

now feels prettier anyway, right?

like it’s a blessing upon mirrors, a salve for memory.

take up its spring in your mouth

and you’re drinking it like jack and coke, like prosecco,

like cold brew or water or air in a dying man’s throat.

ignore that.

look at how the neon hum of the earth itself kisses you on the lips,

how the light curls past the curve of your wrist like it was meant to be there.

maybe if you wish hard enough you’ll glow too,

force it from your pores, casting verdigris in your shadows.

look at how your golden hour takes to your skin like a newborn son.

here, even the rocks are pulsing, alive,

and only the stillness of leaves reminds you that you are dying.

the hole you leave in the floors of familiar places will be memorable -

or maybe you fear it won’t be.

or maybe you are leaving love in the form of soft spaces

for something infinitely more monstrous.

it’s hard to breathe when you are only imagining the fall.

is the blood you smell, bitter in your mouth

or is it the flood of which only sages and children speak?

few are born with prophetic lungs

and you know you will drown yourself cold where you stand if given enough time.

but oh, there is never enough, is there?

the sepulchre beckons. she doesn’t like to wait.

While Sara has made a career out of science, writing has always been her passion. She spent the majority of her time on campus hiking the hill as she went to and from her dorms, conducting research, attending classes, and participating in Red Weather in her spare time. As of now, she is busy juggling an obsession with houseplants, a position as a lab techni- cian, an all-consuming need to be on TikTok and Twitter at all times, and her love for words. Sara currently lives in Portland, Oregon, under the supervision and governance of her cat, Luna.

Poetry board, Fall 2015 to Spring 2019