By Nathan Cook
Meditation
Accordion shades are drawn, but the sun still dances delicately into my room,
illuminating the void created from the lack of artificial light.
The sun’s footwork shines and pivots off the alloy of the back of my computer.
The laptop presents a black screen but calming, meditating sounds flow out of its speakers. They stream strongly and soothingly onto my eardrums,
setting the tempo of my thoughts.
Lying flat on my back, arms parallel at my sides, legs parallel to each other, I look up
and yet
I am looking straight ahead.
The blue exercise mat,
on which I reside, is not in my field of view.
The ceiling is closer than the floor.
I raise my right arm, and my right hand raises with it.
I stretch the hand until I feel that it can expand no more.
Such an interesting thing to have.
My breathing has lengthened, my heart has settled.
Beating slower than its resting rate.
My neck solidifies into a pedestal.
My mouth flatlines.
My nose is snuffed out.
My ears have deafened.
My eyes have seen too much.
All closed.
I now feel weightless.
As though I can fly without needing to battle some force every time I want to go higher,
or any time I do not want to fall.
If I stay in this state for long enough,
and I let my mind move with the tide of my thoughts that flood in with every breath and
rain down from my brain,
I can see myself up there, past my eyelids,
on the blue sky.
There are no mirrors in my room,
yet I can still observe myself,
if I look straight forward.
Wildlife
A hush fell over the lifeless forest as
the silver clouds grew dark with grief.
The shadows of soulless objects danced.
A campfire orchestrating their number.
Slow steady motion away from the warm embers towards the cold bark:
a parasite approaches its prey.
Metal locked onto its target.
A silence.
A bullet.
Death.
The once host to a deer spirit slumps to the now fertile soil.
Blood.
Stop Requested
When it rained, it rained.
With you it never drizzled, there never was a mist.
It was either the most beautiful day, the sun beaming, flowers blooming, and clouds all silver lining,
Or
It was a storm.
A strong, heavy storm brewing in the depths of despair and anguish.
A storm that cannot be avoided.
A flood of emotions, pent-up anger, and envy.
The last time I saw you,
I was in my Old Navy short-sleeve button-down—only three buttons—newly wrinkled, ocean blue, men’s L shirt.
Paired with my Adidas, striped — 3 white stripes on each leg—labeled “19”, men’s L, black sweatpants.
Every stitch was challenged, weighted with every drop from the sky.
Every loose thread was questioned; strings frayed every second.
The fabric was trying, though I had accepted I would not be returning to my second-floor coffin, the landlord called “apartment,” dry.
pause
I had looked at you.
Somehow, it seemed, not a single pellet of water landed on that firm, yet soft body of yours. The body
shaped to fill the gap in mine.
The body
I never wanted to let go.
You were smiling at the sky,
your eyes sparkling.
You love the rain.
You were in your Nike, long sleeve, athletic, pristine black, women’s S, sweatshirt.
—Hearts in different places.
Paired with your Adidas, stretchy, striped — 3 white stripes on each leg— pitch-black, women’s S leggings.
—But lust alike.
I put my arm around you as we sat in the W86th St. & Central Park W Bus Stop.
In that glass-paneled hut,
I felt at home because you were with me, in our tiny bubble of perfection. But,
the weight of your body was crushing my left thigh.
I always forgot that you could hurt me.
I always forgot that we could end from the slightest of winds leaving your mouth.
Which did happen.
When there hadn’t been perfect days, or days with storms.
We broke when overcast became the norm.
We broke when your body changed shape to complete another’s.
We broke,
We shattered, but not then in that glass box.
The traffic in front of us moved slow, the rain held the cars against their will. The taxis’ yellow rustic paint fell
into the void of the soaked black street.
The smell of wet grass from Central Park filled our noses.
The rain moved through umbrellas, opening windows,
unlocking doors,
falling hard and fast.
Unstoppable by nature and ability.
Volatile in direction.
It couldn’t be controlled.
I now know why you love the rain.
In the rain, you feel like everybody else.
In the rain, everyone wants to vanish
to a place that is dry.
In the rain, everyone hates themselves
for forgetting a raincoat or umbrella.
In the rain, everyone’s eyes are soaked red from the unexpected falling onto their faces. In the rain, everyone wants to cut
corners on the way home.
In the rain,
when it truly rains,
there is not a single way to get out unscathed.