by Cheyenne Zaremba
When you wake up in the morning,
you will find the bitter taste of the sun
on your tongue and let it linger there—despite
its bite—because you enjoy its
When you look out your window,
across the field of weedy flowers
in the abandoned grocery store
parking lot, and see the unbroken yolk of a warm
egg on the horizon
you will draw your finger through
the crystallized sugar and salt
on your window
and taste it.
You’ll make a list of things that are cold.
Then, you’ll make a separate list
of things that are transparent and draw
a Venn diagram of where the two
When you go back to sleep
because the house is too quiet and your breath
fogs the air, you will forget
about everything you thought of
in the candid dawn
What men are these?
That squander possibilities
In glasses of expensive scotch.
Who’ve burned a hundred million worlds,
Before they’ve had the chance to start.
What child is this?
Whose cheek receives a gentle kiss
From a parent made of tempered glass.
Never to break,
Destined to crack.
What beast should be?
To scorch the Earth and drain the sea,
To turn the surface from green to black,
To take for granted,
What they were never grant.
What shadow could exist?
To cover blind eyes and tape mute lips,
And make us point up to the stars,
Too lost to see,
It’s truly ours.
Cheyenne Zaremba is a student in the class of 2020 at Roberts Wesleyan College, majoring in Communications with Honors. She has had her work published in Canvas Literary Journal and is currently editor-in-chief of Roberts Wesleyan’s Odyssey Online. When Cheyenne isn’t writing she enjoys reading, swinging, and crafting.