Two Poems
Aster Nicole
Aster Nicole
It's Been Awhile
It’s been awhile since I was last downtown.
There’s train tracks by my house, too, but they sound different than these.
I hear them at night,
Lying in my room, in the dark,
Grabbing at sleep,
Alone, save for my cat,
Who scratches at the door, trying to get out or in
She’s never content in one place or another
She’s always going somewhere
I hear the rumble tumble screech
Just two roads down from me.
It’s been awhile since I was last downtown
The train sounds warmer there
Or maybe it’s the heat of so many people
Packed into one tiny car
Maybe the sun on the pavement makes a noise
That none of us bothered to hear
But we notice its absence now,
The warm sound of the train.
There’s train tracks by my house, too, but they sound different than these.
I hear them at night,
Lying in my room, in the dark,
Grabbing at sleep,
Alone, save for my cat,
Who scratches at the door, trying to get out or in
She’s never content in one place or another
She’s always going somewhere
I hear the rumble tumble screech
Just two roads down from me.
It’s been awhile since I was last downtown
The train sounds warmer there
Or maybe it’s the heat of so many people
Packed into one tiny car
Maybe the sun on the pavement makes a noise
That none of us bothered to hear
But we notice its absence now,
The warm sound of the train.
My Mother's Candles
i dream of an immortal world
where stones as stones remain
our dead might rise to taste the
air and sip it like champagne
here, soil is a foul dream
you wake from in relief
the sky will always stay this blue
and we need never sleep
the whisperings of bedsheet ghosts
will be tall tales alone
told to warn the kids away
from forests overgrown
fields will not grow over me
not in this perfect world
despite the reverent hums of ghosts
and warnings i’ve been told
but soon the black parade will call
when bone’s gone bone's own way
they’ll march across my own front lawn
and leave a black bouquet
for my mother's glowing
match that prompts each
waxy stain candles flicker,
made alive who won’t forget
the flame
but time does not forgive me
as the fire burns my hands
and like a shot my sun has set
with hollers from the band
i do not fear the rising of
a new day without me
but i do dread the sight
of days without my family
my mom lights candles for the
dead each year more wax flames
burn but stone outlives the
candlelight and soon it is my turn
//
Aster Nicole is a 17-year-old from Ontario, Canada. She wrote her first story at the age of five, and has been hooked ever since. She hopes that her work will comfort and inspire those who come across it. Aster will be pursuing Sociology at university, and writing for the rest of her life.
Aster Nicole is a 17-year-old from Ontario, Canada. She wrote her first story at the age of five, and has been hooked ever since. She hopes that her work will comfort and inspire those who come across it. Aster will be pursuing Sociology at university, and writing for the rest of her life.