Point of the Sun

When we met, I said I loved
raspberries the most, so you brought me
tender handfuls in open palms, crimson
running along river-creases in
your skin, dripping down channels
on your wrists. You offered me
home cupped in woven fingers, and
I could almost see it:
a meadow of
cotton lilac and blue-green grass,
peach trees in a grove only we know
how to find, sun-splattered freckles
because I refuse to wear a hat, because
I refuse to hide―
but I have lied
about other things, too, like loving
the sea, or being able to whistle, or
knowing the names of constellations.

If I string the truth from this reluctant
pit of emetophobic stomach I could still lie
again and confess I love city streets in
rust-colored snow and aching cold exhaust
but I am trying to be honest, so I will give
you this alone:
I am searching for
the center of eternity. Sometimes,
I think it is burning you from the inside
of your ribcage,
molten and heavy and
staining like cigarette smoke or red wine, skin
feverish―sweating blood like a crown
of pomegranate sap as you tell me about
paradise, as you board a barge going
someplace far away.

By Ashley Kim

Biography:

Ashley Kim is a 17-year-old high school senior from Southern California. Her work has been published in Overachiever and is forthcoming in The Bookends Review and Detester. She has been nationally recognized by the Scholastic Art & Writing Awards and Visions of Unity. Soli Deo gloria.