Migration Patterns
Ave Welsh
Ave Welsh
I think of myself as a crow.
Skittering alongside highways or perched on the street lamps
black eyes watching the cars go past.
I collect memories like I’d collect the tabs off soda cans,
a little horde of shiny pennies, big white stones
and lost pens.
I think of you as a crane.
A fluid white bird.
Bending in humid wetlands, hidden behind tall grass,
swaying and dancing in the hot wind.
Cranes migrate, flying far away and back again, again and again.
I used to lay in those grasses,
back slick with mud and water,
eyes staring up at the sky.
Picking the little pink flowers that’d grow,
I’d watch those
little white specks moving through the clouds.
I dreamt I kissed you last night.
When we met together, my face split into two waves of skin,
exposing a secret entrance to a new universe.
You swallowed me whole, and I spent hours falling
down and down the multi-colored dream coat of your mind.
It was hot, the fire inside of you, and
The flames flashed fuschia, cyan, lime, and gold.
I could’ve watched it for hours, but the flames made my cheeks pink and flushed.
My roommate got pissed at me last week because I put a cigarette
out between my fingertips.
I never know how to explain the fact,
that I don’t mind being burnt.
Skittering alongside highways or perched on the street lamps
black eyes watching the cars go past.
I collect memories like I’d collect the tabs off soda cans,
a little horde of shiny pennies, big white stones
and lost pens.
I think of you as a crane.
A fluid white bird.
Bending in humid wetlands, hidden behind tall grass,
swaying and dancing in the hot wind.
Cranes migrate, flying far away and back again, again and again.
I used to lay in those grasses,
back slick with mud and water,
eyes staring up at the sky.
Picking the little pink flowers that’d grow,
I’d watch those
little white specks moving through the clouds.
I dreamt I kissed you last night.
When we met together, my face split into two waves of skin,
exposing a secret entrance to a new universe.
You swallowed me whole, and I spent hours falling
down and down the multi-colored dream coat of your mind.
It was hot, the fire inside of you, and
The flames flashed fuschia, cyan, lime, and gold.
I could’ve watched it for hours, but the flames made my cheeks pink and flushed.
My roommate got pissed at me last week because I put a cigarette
out between my fingertips.
I never know how to explain the fact,
that I don’t mind being burnt.
//
Ave Welsh is a twenty-one-year-old undergraduate student studying classical Latin language and medieval Russian history. They are an autistic creator with a focus on poetry, short horror stories, and religious reflections about the relationship between God and suffering. They enjoy horror movies, strange novellas, and trivia podcasts. Avehopes to pursue more publications of their work in the future.
Ave Welsh is a twenty-one-year-old undergraduate student studying classical Latin language and medieval Russian history. They are an autistic creator with a focus on poetry, short horror stories, and religious reflections about the relationship between God and suffering. They enjoy horror movies, strange novellas, and trivia podcasts. Avehopes to pursue more publications of their work in the future.