By Serena Grace Lee

Shipwrecks & Flower Corpses

you will watch her
so gut-wrenchingly beautiful with her shipwrecked eyes
and the endless sea of bourgeois chiffon pooling around her feet
as she floats down her flower corpse aisle
like a haunting, heavenly ghost with her ten grand per square inch makeup
and off-the-shoulder wedding dress that’s far too white for the tainted chapel
screaming to the world that she is signing herself away
with whispered words and matrimonious bands

it will not be a happy day for you
as you take your promised seat, too far to notice the lines of tension on her face
but not far enough to miss the layers of foundation that cake the bride’s wrists
of course they don’t find her scars to be beautiful, to be becoming
but you, you always told her she was perfect
as you kissed her wrists with the same reverence the twinkle in your eye
held for the shipwrecks in hers

perhaps you will remember, oh what a cursed fate
of her smiles that always favored the left side of her face
of her laughter that she saved like pennies in a child’s jar just for you
of her tears that flooded the terrain of her face, searching for a home that no longer existed
when you destroyed the tentative happiness that chased her like a predestined lover
with the daggers that Fate meant only to poison you, not the beautiful bride

you would not dare to miss her wedding day
despite every drop of marrow in your body pleading with you to cease the soul-shaking torture
you will sit with your hands folded in your lap like a true gentleman, ignoring the itch
of your ill-fitting black attire and the heartbroken ache blooming in your throat
as her hand falls into the palm of the groom just as tentatively as happiness pursued her
perhaps your eyes will meet as she peruses the opulent chapel
with her shipwrecks cry for you the way your poison yearns for her?

she could never comprehend your love for her
it was a love that spurred madness and waltzed on the tightrope border of insanity
graves of fine, aged whiskey and funerals for happiness
draw the masterpiece of your heartbreak and sing soliloquies for your love
yet you say nothing as if the very blood at thrums under your cowardly skin refuses to flow
as he slips a ring onto her extended finger, comically large and disgustingly bright
as it catches in the chapel’s mosaic lighting and blinds you with its meaning
he kisses her, of course he does

no, it will not be a happy day
not for you

you who lost the girl.

–

Allow Me This Pleasure

i will remember with the softest fondness
your predestined happiness and your missing upper tooth
the way you walk with a bounce in your step and the way even the wind cannot resist
landing gentle kisses on your ruddy cheeks
let Fate strike me down where i stand if i ever dare
to try to forget the magic of knowing you, of loving you

i will remember with the lightest spirit
your frilly pink dresses and the way you never could quite figure out how to spell enthusiastically
i will marvel at how red your cheeks can get, so vibrant even in the fading fringes of my memory
the sway of your hips as you cannot resist but dance along to the trilling music floating
from the restaurant situated beside us

i will remember our parking lot waltzes
and the kindest embraces you gifted to me
even with the chasm of time drawing a rift between us
perhaps Fate knew we would be too dangerous
to his unending business of misery and desperation
if we were ever to touch even our crooked little pinkies together

let Fate strike me down where i stand if i ever dare
to try to forget the magic of knowing you, of loving you, of being you

never let me forget, dear five-year-old
let me remember until my breath ceases and my smile transitions into an immortal expression
of blankness and lifelessness
until blood drains from our very being and our marrow dries out
let me remember being you, you beautiful little thing

please allow me this pleasure of remembering the enchanting magic of you,
darling girl.

–

Serena Lee is a sophomore at Laurel Springs School currently living abroad in Cambodia. When she’s not writing poetry, you can find her playing soccer, listening to Taylor Swift, or following random recipes she finds online in rebellious acts of spontaneity.