Emblazoned in my consciousness,
the image of your face
contorted into an expression of I don’t know what in that Final moment,
when I held you
and fought hard to bite back tears that threatened to put my own pain on parade,
I tried to focus on yours.
I still remember walking through the park with you each day,
a contrived attempt to find some sort of routine that would take your mind off of
And how I felt
pouring what remained
into the sea
from a sailboat.
What you wanted.
The sun is setting now.
Do you see it? No.
You, of course, are already on your way across the wide Atlantic.
Early morning, there was distress, Edgar’s limbs
Latching close to Julia, salty drops and
Red eyes… Twenty years felt so swift. He’s strapped in…
Mission control’s voice
Says Edgar will lose all contact with Earth. The
Voices fade… Silence sets in. Try to sleep, Ed.
For some long years, somber Edgar is stray, a
Mangy, lone wolf cub.
The gulls are circling in a funny way,
And Skip can see that something is amiss.
The waves have led his tiny ship astray,
And they churn, reckless with their eerie hiss.
A sudden crash sweeps seasick Skip off from
Rotting, yellowed planks. It’s sad, he thinks, for
This to be the end. “What have I become?
I never got to reach my dreams ashore.”
His ship is wrecked; his body sinks serene.
He rushed through life and straight into the void,
From birth to death and dreadful in-between.
“I want to try again!” he screams, destroyed.
“One chance!” he begs to stars all glistening.
He calls and calls but no one’s listening.
I’m told I look pretty in pink; that it
offsets my ocean eyes, shaping my blue
to crystals that splash stronger than the hue
I was born with. I’m told pink stands out, that
it strokes the lines from my spine to my feet
painting streaks of magenta over and through
my skin. I’m told I should continue to
wear pink, to be a sight hard to forget.
But all I see are rich tones of brown, running
past my hands as I scale trees and storm seas.
I see navy pinched with gold that’s spinning
heroes and villains across the night skies.
I see a whole world of colors aglow,
and although I love pink, I’m best dressed rainbow.
I made the moon for you. To walk around
when thoughts wander from your tender grip to
circle simple stars. I gave the moon a hand,
to stretch space between the fingertips you
keep clenched to your chest; untangling your
hearts static pulse. I laced the moon a shoe,
to tread over rouge landscapes you build for
yourself to suffer alone, slippery with
expectation. I sang the moon a shore,
to wash away your worries with a breath
of night-kissed ocean air, slinging to and fro
above your furrowed brow.
My Love; from the skies to the oceans below.
I have time to think now
Choking down words that could have saved me
Espresso’s swirling with dry cologne; the smell,
Clashing in my mind. You used o hate coffee.
A roasted blend of then and now: when I fell
For the stranger across the table. Spills
Of conversation from neighboring chairs dilute
The silence shared between us, lost in time.
For years, I thought the sight of you would brew
A love so rich, my heart would speak in rhyme.
Naïvely, I hoped warmth would fill me up,
Awakening something pure. We’ve aged apart;
I don’t know who you are. I hold my cup
Close to my chest, concealing my bleeding heart.
My voice is thin. Tears trickle down my face,
And I breathe goodbye, since decaf’s all I taste.
You tell me I’m important to you.
That I’ve always been important.
And tell me
After you stole everything I am—
To never come back.
Born and raised in Chicago, Illinois, Brandon Harris is a 21-year-old singer-songwriter full of rhythm and soul, whose voice and charm is eye-catching. He found his love for music in the church at the age of 10, and outside of performing he has a love for poetry!
Joey Dalton is a vocalist and songwriter at Berklee College of Music. Originally from Arlington, MA, he has been composing poetry since his senior year in high school. He is entering into his fourth semester studying Songwriting and hopes to continue pursuing his passions in creative writing and poetry.
Manny Moura is a singer-songwriter from Rio de Janeiro, Brazil. She has recently graduated from Berklee College of Music with a degree in Songwriting. Poetry is one of her biggest passions and the root to all her music.
Mina Tran is a colorful, chic, and queer music-maker, born, raised, and thriving in Los Angeles, California. They are pursuing an artistic career after graduating with a degree in Film Scoring from Berklee College of Music. In their work, they are inspired by the weaving of music, sounds, and words.