• • •
Purpose
I fear I will have no prose with which to entrap this
spark of thunder, burning fresh grass. I used to hope for
thunder. For storms that caught my eye in a moment
of mundane silence. I would spend hours wondering
about worth. Until I gave in and watched a video
about dreams and what they meant. Then proceeded to
think of it every time I slept, wanting to interpret myself
better. To know my future before it would give itself
to me. Hands outstretched to anyone, in the eyes of
heavy clouds overhead, were met with my guilt.
As if it were a kindness I had missed the opportunity
to give. In rain, I am reminded more of the time we
climbed up to an apartment block's rooftop at midnight.
When I was looking for a prophecy to fulfill. When I
helped you up the ladder and thought nothing of it.
When I didn't think the stars were even
waiting
for me
anymore.
Nostalgia Shop
we do advise, at the front, that you practice calling your name a few times. so you don’t forget how to wear the vowels. how to bite consonants and appreciate the crush beneath your molars.
think about the guy who proposed to you at the lake. think about it too often to stomach. the way the dress turns ever so iridescent at the hem, a miracle without any awareness. sewn by a shaking hand. it’s just that when you thought of marriage you didn’t think of anything close enough to hold.
you wore blazers a lot in the winter of 2018. your closet stuffed with layers you had to peel back every morning. that was when you had dreams of journaling and penning stories to prove something. to be the one on the front page made of pulp. from a slurry far gone.
the glint of jewelry shaped in alluring formats. wiped clean by Windex. you used to polish your accessories and watch them stare back at you, still empty. you wanted to hide in the cabinets and wait for morning to mold itself away from your windows. you wanted to be as unseen as a microbe in the mouth of a fish.
we also advise, at checkout, that you come back. we know you purchase the same clothes every time. but we see that, as the employee at the cash register scans the barcode, you look back at the skirt. you wonder, you daydream, you idolize without the permanence of payment that would ruin it, in a way.
• • •
Natalie Nims is a teen author from Ontario, Canada. Her work has been previously published in filter coffee zine, celestite poetry, and Livina Press, among others. In her free time, she enjoys crocheting, listening to music, and reading.
