my fingers are thin
ZAILA BRINSON
I’ve received two rings in my life.
Both fell onto my finger at odd times,
in the years where they don’t mean forever,
and where they don’t mean devotion.
​
The first one was made of red candy,
given to me by a callow boy.
It was more of a treat meant to be enjoyed
for a few minutes at most.
​
The second was made of gold,
the kind my mother may have worn in college. It
was a real beauty, even though there was no prince
on the giving end pining for my heart.
​
As I sit and observe the coupled hands
that walk down the street and rest on the tables in the library,
I can’t help but wonder if I will ever receive a third. If I do,
will it mean forever?
Or will it be nothing more than a sweet snack, with
flavors lasting on my tongue for a brief moment?
i've tasted the clouds
ZAILA BRINSON
I’ve tasted the clouds
And they were sweet
They laid upon me shrouds
Making me ready to greet
The ones that have arrived
Long before I
Those that were rived
And left to die
I’ve tasted the clouds
With my feet
I danced with the angels
Who offered a seat
Overlooking those
I have left behind
On their knees
Looking for a sign
That I am safe
And held so dear
Up in the clouds
With family near