Maker of Light, Image, and Sound

Courtney Prather

 

I'm not sure what I'm meant to learn from you

It can't always be so clear

Fire, glass, and light 

 

We dance.

Make faces so our souls are stolen 

In a column of square shaped memories

Outside, there is nothing but ocean and firelight and us 

Smoke 

 

We walk along the sand where children were

Hours before 

And now

Only an ocean like a creeping desire

About to swallow us whole

 

We sit on swings and re-teach each other how to pump 

You sail into the air,

Suspended

Until your body meets sand 

We run away from the police,

Though they can't even see us

Melting into the dark,

So blue it's black 

 

There is shelter in dive bars

With bearded men and bikers

Playing pool

Midnight music sets,

We sit on vinyl stools and share beer and French fries.

Blue neon light makes me feel close to you

Sepia photos are shared on silver screens

Because you are the maker of sound and image 

Sharing the light of history, 

The timeline of your blood

 

Wistful gazes

You never talk when you don't have anything to say

No urge to choke the silence 

You let it twirl around us 

A quindecennial passed, but

You're still handsome 

 

Your motorcycle scar splits two halves of flesh

Like where your fingers go

When we are back by the sea 

A dark haired girl from Boston

Who scribbles in notebooks

And a Missouri runaway grown into an LA charmer

 

You once played bongos in Vegas

And didn't sleep for a year, 

But now your hands smooth and stir me like a drum 

We burst, becoming shooting stars

 

 


Courtney Prather is an MFA alumnus from Emerson College in Boston. After winning the Marjorie Frost award for her essay on Virginia Woolf’s To The Lighthouse, she decided to pursue fiction and poetry writing. Her work has been previously published in Digital America and around the web. 

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