by Samantha Seto
Note to Beloved
My note travels across the room, past mobs of people,
it reaches his hands, before he slips it into trash,
My face flushes purple, anger rages, heart pounds.
In our timed and untimed arrivals,
pulleys to the elevator ascend.
Casually late, mail travels over double doors,
long-distance calls at airport.
Room dealt black and red deck of cards,
cheap perfume, left messages in parlors, postcard view.
Secrets packages turn to ash and canopies of dust,
meant for those far away.
Luggage tags, passports, travel haze.
Airplanes depart, passengers run to board plane,
shuttle to hidden magic at entrance.
Lines of travelers, past crowds of colorless blur,
angled mirrors, static of an old radio.
Crossword puzzles, smell of airborne sickness,
left waiting for him at gate 64.
He stares at me, tears flood my eyes,
Overwhelmed at the moment, peppermint scent.
Voice clings in bitterness to my throat,
search for the words to release.
The Last of Us
So many decades have passed.
We grew apart between love into hate and sad letters.
Phone calls impossible for my paper flowers,
your face vanishes into crowds, escape inside our song.
I breathe into your lungs like the soprano in the opera,
my ghost will inhabit your soul.
The ground weighs beneath my feet in white hospital linen,
my headache burns past nightfall.
If our collective CPR stopped, lost charge,
our last breath would synchronize into one.
Despite every passing second alive
for all who breathed us in, a pair of doves.
Each set of lungs, colorful balloons, warm kisses,
they throw us into air and I watch you rise like rain
Eyelids of Pure Ice
Gray moonlight filters
through cracked windows.
It brushes purple wind
against my dry eyelids.
Buried in the thickness of my jacket,
flurries of snowflakes tangle with hair,
frost burns my face, numbs my eyelids,
memory never hesitates to leave me alone.
Degrade myself, restrain screams,
until end of the tunnel doesn’t exist.
Clouds haze promise in
decayed leaves and white blanket.
I dip my feet into icy lake,
waltz with snowflurries
as evil silently whispers,
eyelids block violet cloudborne nocturne.
My heart pounds
at long wasted memory.
Haunts me, acrobats weave webs,
tears pour out of my eyelids.
Erase indigo memory.
Samantha Seto is a writer. She has been published in various anthologies including Ceremony, The Screech Owl, Overpass Books, Blue Hour, Soul Fountain, Ygdrasil, and Black Magnolias Journal. Since everyone inspires her in some way, she always takes to heart every word. Samantha writes lots of poetry and aspires to take beautiful photography. One day, she hopes to write a novel or chapbook. Samantha studies creative writing. She is a third prize poet of the Whispering Prairie Press.
Painting: Neri Falconi – detail from CANARIO