Wedding Ring in Broken Bones
In these last years, I pluck myself
together as each ruffled feather
tethered to bone. I grow unripe,
slot myself plum sour between plastic.
In these last years, I say
pretend. That lilacs are blooming
under the stairs, the marble slate
smoothed glossed over the lip
crystal shine & dazzling. How many
times have I heard this story before?
Scratched into flesh with broken
bones. My skin your skin tattered
white elephant skin yielding softness
under wide open eyes
we live on blindly bodies pressed
against the wind chill of marble splits
our bloodstreams into a new gash of hoping.
Time in & time out. Hemorrhage rust.
Our mouths around tuneless pulsations,
around white napkin rinds. & I say pretend
we can filter out this static. & I say pretend
we are doused in white soothing tongues in
a sprig of mint. & I say end it here.
You may kiss the bride,
but you may not hold her.
By Julia Zhou
Julia Zhou is a high school senior from Herndon, Virginia. Her writing has been recognized by the Poetry Society of the UK and the National YoungArts Foundation; they can be found in Antithesis Journal, Blue Marble Review, and Typishly, among others. Find her napping with a Campbell’s textbook cradled in arm, playing quizbowl, or staring at the moon.