Not as serendipitous as the moon,
Never as near as the warm June air,
Rather a solar wind monsoons myself.
Soon enough I will infiltrate the only planet with life
And wish I hadn’t again invaded someone so abundant.
Vulnerable meat amongst my bones will decay
In the arms of a boy who will do me wrong…
Tirelessly, I let you leave and return with every part of me.
As sterile as I am, I too pick at the skin of which is bruised.
I let love grace me knowing I’ll spoil it before sunrise.
Nevertheless, love has persisted long before me.
Unluckily enough, I exist as a poor excuse of its byproduct;
I do quite a soddy job at paying homage to my roots.
The soil I bloom out of, I walk all over and think no more of.
The water I spring from, I bask in only when convenient.
I’ve never been one to lose the names of those I meet.
How am I so quick to forget the nature of my iniquity?
Longingly, yet contradictingly so, I brace my frame for impact
When I recall the only way I know to accept love.
Subsequently, when tension exits my grasp, so do you.
My salvation lies atop of your cold and broad shoulders,
Above sea level, overlooking the horizon…
It is there that you leave me, once again, ajar.
Vagrants like me reside in the place they lost themselves,
Monsoon clouds dampen my efforts when I am away.
Lightning strikes every syllable of forgiveness I utter,
And between each of your instinctual blows I remember:
I’ve never been someone you love for long.
Closing Statement
Hello! I must admit that the homage I am about to pay is in misalignment with the words I write, however, I felt it necessary. At this point in my life, adulthood seems nearer than ever and along with it does the overwhelming need to cure myself of this childish blame game. I do not blame my father for the grievances I spring upon him. I love my father dearly, which leads me into my next point: this poem is derived from my experiences with him, the lovely ones, not-so-lovely ones, and all of the in between. This piece is titled “Orange Sky” as an ode to the beautiful song by Alexi Murdoch. This is more apparent in the line, “My salvation lies atop of your cold and broad shoulders…” as a parallel to Alexi’s own, “My salvation lies in your love.” I watch my father act on self-preserving instincts. My uncle tells me he is intimated that I see right through him. I love him anyway and oftentimes feel guilty for seeking his replacement. In this piece specifically I assume that it is obvious just how much these past five months of inactivity have led to me dwelling on the nature of self. I am my own worst enemy. There is no doubt about that. As I just graze the line of adulthood, this rivalry is overgrown and outdone. My cruel behavior is no precedent or muse to take advantage of for the sake of poetry. Altogether, I believe it righteous to work on yourself for the sake of your loved ones. I have hurt my mother too many times and justified it even more with the name of my father. We mustn’t be so quick to forget the nature of our iniquity. It is okay to be left ajar, to be left undone, but do not tangle those you love in with your selfish ways.
Thank you for all you readers do,
Aly
The photo above is shot on 35mm film in Northwest New Mexico.
She Wrote To You 
Leave a comment