Weathered - Kathryn Vanderoef

A dead Goby in my hand

Small and pop eyed as if it could suddenly understand

Adorement or wonder, if all it saw was red–

Before trapped in a lull, circling a muddy pond

As the river ran behind him and ahead

Large rocks with small waterfalls that tighten their bond

Yet, all has come undone

Running, leaving deep footprints in long grass

Soaked socks, scratched ankles–all for freedom

The final form is unclear, uncut, and somehow perseveres

Despite the aggressive scrutiny of clammy, calloused fingers

“I am sick of feeling those fingers”

She is daring, so she speaks

“Why are you writing about me?”

Gripping my shoulder, a sign of resentment

Though, I truly see it as a plea

Hours upon hours, ridding of that smell so sour

Watching her roll in fields of wildflowers

Under the Autumn moon, the strangest thing

Dandelions rise, back from the dead

Hovering like fleeing umbrellas overhead

Every particle, these seeds as they float

Each fragment, sunflowers turned sunburst

Now asteroids in the sky,

All lead to fire

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Kathryn Vanderoef is a now graduated student from U-Albany with a Bachelor’s Degree in English. She likes to write about sexuality, externalism, and writing itself as an art, as it’s always what has come the most naturally. These are also darker themes that feel like the more you write about them, the more you unravel their secrets.