My mind's maze is filled with smoke,
each turn a memory to deep-throat
at dusk, children turn to coy witches
to guide dead dreams up chimneys
before they turn rancid as black oil on brooms
to remind them of the flames that, cackling,
rose above their lost city's rooftops —
an untimely fate still cursing
the air, too charred to be kind
What has my singed soul banished
before I even tasted the name of God?
Saturated by saltwater we poured on ourselves,
we sought to be the ones who prevailed, enlightened.
Alone now, I dash down the hallway of horrors
past trauma passed down from my mother
as the old cuckoo clock chimes out nine
times, reverberating as if to reset my bones:
Do you see the way a dream-tinged memory curls?
The narrow walls are pressed with lavender
and the faded solemn mint, shale-green,
wilts as it waits for my last will
I awaken in this new realm and refuse to go,
my fists tight and dark purple, still clinging
to a bygone era perpetually chased heavenward
I still seek your ancient landmark words, breath
coursing through my pipes as if whistling past
corridors where everything strange is beautiful
Melody Wang currently resides in sunny Southern California with her dear husband. In her free time, she dabbles in piano composition and also enjoys hiking, baking, and playing with her dogs. She is a reader for Sledgehammer Lit and can be found on Twitter @MelodyOfMusings.