By Fiona Warnick
How to Tell Astronomy from Astrology
It is difficult to say the
difference between an underripe nectarine
and walking through the snow with
untied shoelaces. You prefer
clementines and rain.
Two Wednesdays ago I saw a purple kite caught
upon a dandelion.
One Wednesday ago I tried to blow away the seeds.
The dandelion was still underripe.
I’ll sit by the chessboard and run
back and forth between turns.
I’ll know which side’s me because
it’s the one that loses.
“Put on your shoes,” she told me.
We’ll walk through the waves every third Wednesday,
and if there isn’t any thunder-
You tie your shoes and
a dust bunny is the velveteen rabbit and
I could sit and stare at clementine peels for days.
Isn’t it curious how we mistake
planes for stars? And stars for planes?
The trick is that planes blink
and you always won staring contests.
The Fundamental Theorem of Calculus
Sometimes my tears drip, and you would
compare them to moonlight and be pleased with yourself.
Really they drip the way an ice-cube tray drips in January.
Next to the sink. Waiting to be refilled and
put in the freezer.
We made eye contact yesterday and
I didn’t see it,
but in terms of snow suits
I will be forever staring at your eyelids.
How come my eyebrow hairs are whirled and
fluffy after a meltdown? No, don’t tell me.
Some things are better without
prime numbers or fractals.
Fiona Warnick is eighteen and goes to Amherst Regional High School. She is an editor for her school’s arts and literary magazine, The Minks, and aside from that is previously unpublished. Last summer she attended the Juniper Institute for Young Writers at the University of Massachusetts. Her favorite poet is Heather Christle.