June

Stefanie Lee 

measuring my future      on a scale that tips at the apple core
of a second primordial garden, sinking under feverish red light     

as a child towards slumber. we become our own echoes
once we thrust open the door, this curtain’s bleeding lip,  

bending at the knees      & devoid of all regret. this is a mighty
spectacle, the wool under which we hide our blemishes, damp

& dancing with like-minded creatures of fate. a steady
untying of shoelaces, tethered to nothing. june, month

when spring kisses      summer on the cheek, leaves behind a
sugary taste, girlhood blackened like fire in a pink dollhouse.

& doll hair sprouts between fingers, sweaty, even after
its final cut, rope braids warning me of this new threat.

sun squeezed like      grapefruits, slotted as a crossbow nock,
seedy pockets filling fuchsia dimples unsmiling. windblown,

wiring come apart, sparking & spitting in rage or grief. 
not just a twisted dress hanger, means to a sparkly end.

reach into the belly      of the earth, slice my wandering index
on a bloated diamond’s cheek: this is not how fairytales work.

I glare at the irrelevance of calendar days & I glimmer
as young as a monarch butterfly, orange in its wetness.

wings speckled      confident frays of flame, spinning towards
hope untameable & raw like a scream, fear unfurling to flight.

Stefanie Lee is an ambitious young writer from Montréal, Canada. Living with a rare physical disability called Nemaline Myopathy, she is a motivated software engineering student. When she is not writing or studying, she can be found editing her photography or solving crossword puzzles. Read more of her published work at www.writingbystefanielee.ca.

Art: Chad M. Horn is a travelling Beat Poet, artists, and raconteur