AUTUMN MACKErEL

streaks

across sunset oranges swirled     with coldwater tourmaline        sea sizzles irritated

scorching around his scales            its own Olympic flame                   not

strangled   

 in a smoke watercolor cloak         

 impish                                    like a 2D    animated bonfire

he suspires                   listlessly                  between whiny slime        

seaweed clumps           his nonapparent journey                        to his Yeti Crab comrade

mudstone fragments fling                         

attempt to crush

but Autumn Mackerel enjoys

the way the rocks                 flirt                              with his fizzing fins’ tips 

he eventually finds himself                                                by a tektite hydrothermal

vent  belonging to Yeti Crab 

between them: subtle lament

floats in                      carbon dioxide bubbles

 flouting their eyes

the daylit sky cant focus on the miry dirt so why should we

why cant dirt become the new sky

Ennui contentment

When I take my future children to see the Kanazawa Gardens, green nudity basking in a bath of sunlight next to an asymmetrical rock worn by the algae speck pond, and they respond with, “this is underwhelming,” I will tell them “yes, it is,” that nothing will ever live up to the festered emotions planted into us by saturated pictures on travel sites, influencers walking through filtered mirages, that finding the kineticness in a static picture is my definition of contentment.

TO NOT CRUSH

To not crush

If I could become any element

I would become transparent

and clean, soothingly

vast for you to sprawl through

relishing to gasp in

to become the gusts ruffling

tips of your chestnut hair

the space between our blood cells

whispered out our lips, learning

what it feels like to fill your lungs and fuel

your tongue: I could learn

what it is to love, but definitions

are meaningless if definition

changes direction

so you can call me air

your dog air

your plant nursery air

your coffee pot air

your faded quilt air

the sun itself air

whomever air

whatever air

wherever air

GILLIAN LIONBERGER studies in the heart of her Appalachian culture at Hollins University’s MFA program. Her inspiration for little objects that lovingly-clutter hearts, tapping into the concreteness of languages, and meditations on humanity spread across both prose, poetry, and non-fiction. 

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