Text Messages Sent from Traverse City to Hong Kong
Delivered 2:18 AM, EST |Sometimes the distance burrows |into my top-left-rib |because I can’t stop <thinking |about seeing your fingers |splayed around a cup |of tea, fingernails <bitten, maybe |jagged little half-moons |hung, weeping |at a hot mug, fingerprints <molding back |into place |after quickly tapping |once. twice you told me <that piano was an art: |ivories stretching |from week to week |but I play organ, riffing <on appendixes |and appendices. ACGT, |TGCA, thread my paper |cuts above the space in- <between, spacebar, |where’s my space- |suit, I want to steal |your crescents. Too <bad, too far, you |and your ten slivers, |silvers, slip-up? I can’t |even scuba <dive, deep-dive |into what-ifs, wikipedia instead |because sometimes I wonder |if time-travelers <can be trusted, time- |zones, trains. twelve hours |behind, I’m tired |of being <late, last place |is for losers, |am I losing |you? Here: critical failure <turned fool |or massy mess |or messy mass |don’t go, going, gone <this isn’t grand |piano this isn’t |perfect. Please |listen, I want to hear <your voice.
Zoe Reay-Ellers is a 17 year old writer from Washington State. She edits for a host of literary magazines, and her work has appeared in a number of different places, including The Blue Marble Review and The Eunoia Review.