Rachel Cruea

Notes on the Unaddressed

  1. Night is a room. The walls are the color of disclosure. You may look through the windows but its ivory plumes are folded.

  2. You once again mistake composure for compliance. The back of my dress dips low but is locked with a key I’ve already swallowed.

  3. When a bottle of champagne pops into a bouquet of violets I drink each petal.

  4. Moths often imitate other animals. I smear lipstick across my mouth until you can’t help but notice when I’m not around.

  5. When you say “You have no heart,” an indigo curtain drops to the floor.

  6. To refuse this rain is to refuse that you are searching for your own heart, that I will not mean peace for you, that in this griefless light I’ll plant a thousand orchards.

  7. A beautiful fever comes over me. An arrow splits; my veins run gold.