Erica Phelps
Editor: Alloe Mak

Have you ever found yourself
nestled between horizon and sun,
thinking: I could sit here for a while?
Before I am enveloped in stars,
stamped, and sent away,
I could sit here for a while.
Don’t send me away.

Are you scared?
Truth is if I thought for a second
that this soul was mine,
I’d fear not death but
the sun and
the thought of my graying eyes.

Are you scared?
People often say that I’m made of dreams.
They ask me what I’m thinking
and frown
when I say it’s that my feet
are too small.
They say that my chin is tied to the clouds.
Paint me a picture, they say.
I give them blank papers, saying
this is you, and me, and everything in between.
I’m not loopy, I tell them.
I’m only confused.

So let me sit here until I know.
Soon I’ll arrive at your doorstep
And you’ll ask me to climb a sunrise.
Until then,
I will sit here for a while,
remembering what it was like
to grow tall.