What We've Done

By guest author Connor Prendergast

Is our hubris

So unconquerable
That we truly believe 
Our words - our ideas - 
Can even begin to 
Allude to the vastness, 
The complexity 
And majesty of 
Where we are? 
How we are? 
The greatest poets 
Are tongue-tied. 
The greatest thinkers, 
Philosophers, 
Yield only great 
Questions. 
And yet, how 
Is there hope? 
We sit, so obviously 
Paraplegic, 
At the base of 
Olympus Mons. 
So inexplicably, 
We realize our tears, 
Rising geysers, 
Are products of 
Our immense joy.

That Night

       The first time they ever met was on the coldest day of the year. It was also the only time Elle forgot to check the weather report and left her house wearing a light jacket and running shoes, caught unprepared for the coming blizzard like a dove surprised by hurricane winds. Within five minutes of their meeting, Grace gave her the thick winter coat she was wearing, telling Elle her shivers were from nerves. “My body is pretty much a furnace,” she said, “I’d let you borrow its warmth, but this is only our first date.” The coat was the next best thing. As she wore it, she noticed it smelled like strawberries and felt like Apollo's embrace. Elle wore it home that night after dropping Grace off at her apartment; she blushed deep enough to match the scent that had then seeped into her pores when their lips first touched. She called as soon as she got home and opened up to her like front doors welcoming extended families home for the holidays.

       That night she fell asleep at one in the morning.

       That night she dreamed of strawberries.

       On their second date, instead of kissing Elle goodnight, Grace invited her in. The two women left a trail of semi-casual date-night garments leading from the front door to Grace’s bedroom. As Elle fumbled Grace’s blouse half-on-half-off her body, Grace asked, “Do you think we’re moving too fast?” She just replied with a bite on grace’s lip and a smack on her rear before she pushed her through the bedroom door.

       After, they lay panting, tangled in sheets and limbs as Grace told Elle the story of how she came out to her parents on Christmas morning. “My mother nearly dropped a handmade vase from my grandma, and my grandma nearly needed to go to the emergency room!” They laughed and held each other but Grace’s face fell. “That was the last Christmas I ever spent with my family,” she said with tears running down her face. They weren’t really tears of sadness - she had long since moved on - but they were tears of pure truth. “That was the year I turned fourteen.” Elle leaned in closer and kissed her tears away like a baptism left salty on her lips.

       In the morning, Grace made a pot of coffee and began steeping some tea for Elle that she found pushed to the back of the cabinet. She also made eggs and toast and brought it in on a small tray which she set down on the nightstand to lean in and wake Elle with a passionate kiss. Shortly, the two were sitting cross-legged on Grace’s bed eating.

       “So, you never told me your story,” said Grace, “When did you come out to your folks?” Elle stopped chewing for a split-second to pull up the bedsheets further up, completely covering her thighs.

       “I never really did,” she set her toast back onto the tray and brushed off her hands, “I guess its just something we always knew.”

       “So they were fine with it?”

       “No… my parents were extremely religious,” Elle pulled the sheets further up her body, displaying only her head and neck, like a father who let his kids bury him in the sand, “They sent me to a Christian summer camp for ‘troubled children.’ Actually, it was a really rough time for me." Grace leaned in to brush away her tears and kiss her on the nose.

       “Lovely…” Grace gripped the sheets, “Let me see them.” Reluctantly, Elle allowed her to pull the sheets back to display the scars stacked onto one another like a pile of disheveled therapist’s notes. “Oh, Elle… baby…” Grace didn’t need to run her finger along the scars to feel the texture, but she did anyway. The scars ran from knees to hips, varying in depth and density. Grace touched her lips to the valleys on either knee, moving up until she had kissed each scar like every one was a star the children would wish on someday.

       Elle took Grace’s face in her hands and pulled her into her arms. “Lover, I know, it gets hard sometimes, but you have to always know that everything gets better.”

       “I know,” Elle did not speak the words, only whispered them softly to keep from crying harder, “I spent four months out of every year getting taught that my love was a lie; that God hated me for falling for the prettiest girl on the playground during sixth grade recess.” Grace held her as she opened up once again, rocking her gently to the rhythm of her tears. “There was this one girl at the camp, she was a counselor, only a few years older than me, she told me she was there to really help the kids, not brainwash them like the others. She caught me in the girls showers trying to bleed the unholy from my veins.” Elle used her right index finger to trace the only closed scar on her legs. 

       “She didn’t tell anyone but the nurse, and she didn’t even tell her that I was gay. That night we stayed up in the nurse’s office braiding my hair as she told me about her two moms. They were devout Catholics and had been together for two years before their church’s pastor agreed to unofficially marry them, despite their faith. She said ‘Ellie, every time you think you’re alone in this world, you call me, day or night. I’ll tell you how you can never truly be alone; how there are always so many more that feel the same pain as you.’” Grace and Elle both wiped tears from their eyes as Elle continued, “She saved my life that night. I planned on cutting my wrists free of the world and the pain without so much as a ‘thanks for nothing’ note to my parents.”

       “Lover, so long as you live, you will never be alone.” Grace pulled up her shirt and turned to Elle, showing her rows of scars carved into her skin like a Mayan catalogue of events carved into stone.

Elle bent in and kissed them into stars left for their love to fathom into constellations.

Fears

People say they are scared of love.
They're not.
Love is what overcomes fear.
Overcomes sadness.
Anger.
Grief.
People do not fear love,
Their minds too often make false connections
Between the uplifting beauty of love,
And the gut-wrenching,
Peace-killing, nerve-wrecking
Explosion the heart withstands
Once silence falls.
People do not fear love,
They fear love's company.
They fear the uncertainty of love's return.
They fear they fall too hard,
Too fast,
Without being followed.

Love is a driving force,
A motive to become more,
To become better.
Life is the force that silences love,
That hinders it, but also gives it room
To grow.
Life is love's brother, twin, and friend.
The two are ever present and
Never alone.
it is because of life, its experience,
That we fear love.
it's all about that lovely girl,
That girl we would pray about.
if we had the power, we'd
Give her the sun,
The moon, and the stars.
if we never had that lovely girl,
if we never stayed up 'til midnight
Just to study the contours and curves
Of her body, and the beautiful imperfections
Of her skin, none of us would fear love.
When our world shone bright at the sight of her,
When our dull day went from black and white
To mind blowing technicolor, that day,
She gave us a gift.
Wrapped neat in brown paper bags,
And a tight black ribbon with a rotton,
Disheveled bow,
The gift was our experience.
Our gift was fear.

Like having the fear of death, having the fear of love
Makes not a difference in the world.
We live our lives afraid of our exit,
Afraid of our journey to the afterlife.
We live our lives being told what to think,
What to fear.
"Death," they say, "is the ultimate terror.
stay healthy, be good,
and postpone your finale as much as possible."
We live our lives repeating the mantra:
"i don't want to die,
i don't want to die,
i don't want to die,
i don't want..."
And we live our lives, but we die,
inevitably and absolutely.
Just like how we love what we can and
We helplessly hope our love stays true.
But it doesn't,
And we come to know that
Gut-wrenching, peace-killing
Explosion of sorrow and tears,
Of loneliness and fears.
The explosion sends shudders through our gears,
Leaving us screaming past the piers,
Praying to God that she hears,
But the terror manifests through the years,
Leaving us petrified of love.

For what seems like lifetimes,
We shy away from that blessed
Want. That sacred peace.
But, like the inevitability of death,
We fall again, still too hard,
Too fast.
We continue the process,
Through love and through fear,
'Til one day...

it stays.

How to Find Love

Begin in teenage years.

Date a girl for several days. 

Break up. This was not love. Search

Without looking. That is to say, do not 

Search with your open eyes, but with your

Open heart. Open your heart wide, wide enough

For people to get in, for people to stay in. 

Get hurt. Love does not come cheap.

Continue through high school. Find a girl 

And date her for two of your four years. Date her,

On a whim, and fall for her. In fits of passion and lust,

Make love to her clumsily, it being both of your firsts.

When you lie in bed, skin on skin, whisper to her. Tell her

You love her. Tell her how you found her, how you

Opened your heart and she flew right in, like a

Dove. A dove with talons. Later, give her terrible words, 

Something akin to “we need to talk.” Break

Her heart. Feel sorry for hurting her, but regret

Nothing. Or don’t. Receive terrible words,

Something akin to “it’s not you, it’s me.” Have her

Break your heart, knowing they are just words, 

And it was you all along.

This was not love.

In your escapades following your separation,

Find amazing friends, friends that help you 

Open your heart once again. Friends that climb in 

And make your heart their home. Fall for one of them.

She is beautiful in every way, you tell her. Love her 

Through everything and anything. Have her

For a short time. You fell for her more

Than anyone in the past. More than that girl

Who was your first.

Lose her. It will tear you apart, this girl that

Fit. This girl that may well have been yours 

Forever. Lose her. Now you know love.

It hurts.

How to Love Lips

Begin forming words.

Move with beauty and grace.

Dance to the message your body forms. After, 

You will embrace her, mixing in a new dance.

You make truth, this is your business. But also,

You make lies, this is your sin. Don’t listen

To the problems of others, this is not for you,

But when they need you, tell them the way to fix these problems

Dance once again and remove their sorrow

Out of their mind.

Go to new places, dance with others,

But save your waltz for her

For when you return home. This dance you share, 

This wondrous lust, this thing

Is precious, and therefore, delicate.

In your life, you will have many people to share this waltz,

Many people to share this 

Sacred lust. That doesn’t

Make it any less precious.

When you dance with her, remember

Those steps well, those moments.

Share this dance with only her, until

She finds another with swifter feet, and better

Shoes, better moves. Now it is your turn

To find another, better dancer.

Dancing cannot be the only thing

You ever do. Sometimes you are more 

Lovable when you sit quietly,

And watch. Watch someone else’s 

Dance. By simply being there,

You instill confidence, proclaim

The truth that is your business.

This is no place for your sin.

Just sit and watch, see

How gracefully the muscle moves the bone,

Watch as practiced limbs create beauty

Before your eyes. See the way they speak

With you. See how these movements create 

Love, not romantic, but fanatic,

In your odd little heart.

This journey, that is falling in love

With something, will have a 

Side effect. You may start to

Notice more beauty in everything,

In people, in things, in the world,

In life, in death,

And in everything in between.

This is not really 

“How to Love Lips”

This is “How to Love.”

What is Peace?

Last night I found myself wondering

What peace really is. 

I found myself pondering 

If it is some permanent state of being 

We as humans search for our entire lives.

Is it something that once found

Will cause happiness 

Worldwide?

Does peace just sit there

Like a fed up parent 

Waiting for her chaotic,

Mislead

Toddler to tire himself out

Before she can pick up the pieces 

Left by his destructive ways?

Lost in these dizzying daydreams

I came across a revelation.

This revelation made clear that

The relationship between peace and war 

Is not that of a fed up parent and her reckless toddler,

But it is that of two lovers, 

He, who dances dangerously dealing death

To all. 

But also her, who, while dancing with her lover, 

Lands love luxuriously upon the lives of onlookers. 

There is no death to be dealt without the luxury and love

Of peace.

Along side this revelation came a thought so profound,

"Peace is beautiful, but fragile, like butterfly wings.

Touch them once and the may just crumble away

Into the dust."

Peace comes and goes, 

Showing her skill on the dance floor for only a minute

Before her lover's turn comes around

And shatters our serenity she selflessly gave us.

Finally, 

I realized what peace is. 

Peace is more 

Than something our governments strive for, 

More

Than a cause our soldiers die for. 

Peace is more

Than some end to justify these means, 

More 

Than our filthy American dreams. 

Peace is maturity, 

On a level entirely new to us.