beneath the floorboards

of five years old and
fully grown, standing in the shadows
of a diary : here
a monolith of diving boards, and here
we have the maze of half-erected houses, all
in siding-board without their ceilings : everyone
an indoor sky. cling to me
confess to me your dirty paws, the gloves we lost
the sock without its twin : if only there were two of us,
if only there was
crayon dust and purple fingernails
the smell
of little soft eternities which
slip between the days, like sugar and
cicada wings : the body of
the kitten laid to rest
beneath
the floorboards.

By Olivia Lee

First published in Heritage Review.

Biography:

Olivia Lee is a senior at California School of the Arts – San Gabriel Valley. Her art and writing has been recognized by the Alliance for Young Artists and Writers, Princeton University, and the California Coastal Commission. She has work published, or forthcoming in Canvas Literary Journal, Polyphony Lit, Body Without Organs, Tab, The Journal of Poetry and Poetics, Blue Marble Review, and Apprentice Writer among others. In her spare time, she enjoys watching stationery hauls on Youtube and way too much anime on Crunchyroll.