mouths of waterfalls | Saraí Knox

from the threshold of the living room, she mumbles 

she stands as if a wooden plank was nailed to her back, 

arms wrapped tightly around herself as if she’s cold, 

hands tucked inside her sweater as if it isn’t july 

words tumble from her mouth, 

but i can't hear much over the sound of them crashing together 

i suppose i tuned out, 

suppose my brain turned off after the "i love her" part 

somewhere in there, i presume, 

she mentioned who her is but 

i can't recall 

i don't remember starting to cry. 

i didn't feel it until the droplets fell into my lap 

and soaked through my leggings, 

the dampness cool against my thighs 

my eyes, the mouths of waterfalls, created ponds at my feet. 

i've heard enough, i think 

but really, i heard nothing 

i absorbed nothing at all 

she kept going, 

her voice a deep, quiet lull in the back of my mind 

despite her mouth continuing to move, 

i pushed up from the couch and walked to the bedroom, 

careful to avoid my puddle 

so as to not slip to my knees 

and drown in my sorrows. 

it's hard for me to breathe.

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Saraí Knox is an English major from Kingston, NY in their senior year at UAlbany. They love to write poetry, prose and fiction, with the goal of publishing a novel. Along with writing, they also enjoy reading, listening to music, and playing soccer.