On Wednesdays, the city turns up its collar
Not rough, never vindictive
Subtle as a new chill against your cheek
Or a mist that dims the eyes
Stray thoughts stow like orphans into fastening sleeves
Shadows slimming on the concrete, bereaved by twilight
Today, dusk was an ebbing tide; we drained from school like water through a sieve
I buried my coat in my bag, arms bare and ponderous
Even bowing my head, I sensed your approach, you with your fraying maroon cuffs,
face a study in angles, your gaze like charcoal
softening everything it lights upon,
your hand nudging my hair
I thought, I want a conversation in polychrome
I thought, I want a riot
To lean my head on your shoulder, thread our hands into latticework
Startle you into laughter until your hood falls away
But the cold was biting and my arms were bare
I could only smile, trembling with unshed words
In the interregnum between sense and sensation
I thought, maybe that’s why they say to wear your heart on your sleeve.
If it breaks, the shards slit the fabric and not your skin.
What I mean is: we all crave love, we are all soured by it
Hands cup loose change, hands build barricades
The wind is a lone rogue across the flat sea
Mourning the missing things she will never seek
We are too fragile for this, this restless imitation,
this plundering of ruins for a scrap of our salvation
Allyson Ye is a high school senior from Hong Kong. She writes prose to vicariously experience the lives of others, and poetry to romanticize her own. Beyond writing, she is a passionate genre fiction advocate, budding fortune teller, and a capella enthusiast. You can find her on Instagram @sunnygally. She hopes you have a very nice day.