CW: Suicidal Ideation

Across the garden there’s a window

with white blinds that sag like tired eyes,

from a face I almost remember

or may have dreamed once. 

The street is never silent, there they come and go

shiny salvations that hiss into a dull sky distance

leaving me breathless for the want of things

no human mouth has space to articulate. 

There are things I want but dare not dream of. 

I break them into digestible pieces,

sit with my back to the window, feed

on their bitter flesh like daylight.

There is someone I could have been once—

she dances in the rain like children do,

unburdened and alive with joy 

saturated with tender freedom  

not thinking about the cold in her bones

the clinging, gritty filth of mud puddles

or how a car could come around that turn,

and she wouldn’t call it salvation 

she wouldn’t call it mercy

if it opened her like a friendly stranger 

unbolts a door for someone in the icy rain.

Ariel K. Moniz (she/her) is a queer Black poet and Hawaii local currently living abroad. Her poems have found homes with Bloodbath Literary Zine, The Raven Review, Royal Rose Magazine, and Sunday Mornings at the River Press, among others. Beyond writing she is also an avid reader, ardent wanderer, womanist, nature worshipper, and notorious daydreamer. You can find her on her website: kissoftheseventhstar.home.blog.