CORRIDORS

  A students' magazine for mental health advocacy

I DIDN'T MEAN TO IGNORE YOU UNTIL YOU WERE DEAD BUT I WAS WAITING FOR AN APOLOGY

MARINA HART

 

I.

late spring snow and premature ashes

curse my drive back home.

 

this storm is so grey, i swear your confetti flesh

must still be smoking, sticking to my windshield

 

the way the cologne of camel blues and cognac

stuck to my clothes in kindergarten.

 

was it god or was it You who threw

your body on the highway?

 

i wish i could smash your urn against the sky, just to see

the force furrow the clouds into the shape of your brow

 

maybe if i could stand beneath your ashes

finding a home on the ground

 

maybe then i would know

what a father’s love feels like.

 

the blizzard pushes each car into the ditches

while i scrape by on this country road fishtailing.

 

i promise that i’ll sweep them up tomorrow,

 

but for now

i will savor your last assault.

 

II

heavy eyes meet sterile air

this is not a drill.

 

three missed

and ceaseless

calls;

 

my mother beating

my dark wood apartment door

 

carrying

the scythe

in with her.

 

i felt sand in my eyes

where tears should be

 

and dug

through their sockets

for stone.

 

IT'S IN THE BLOOD

is vodka on the rocks after the day you’ve just had considered fighting fire with fire, or is

it just the principle of the thing? i hear your laugh every time the glass hits the table;

there’s congruence between the demeaning grinds of your teeth while you sleeply

sound and my jawed squares from flaming tequila, composting a stomach so hot, i’ll

cook your dinner tonight. tight-lips linger, praying to this bottle that you’re nowhere near

my room tomorrow morning. sweat drips down my neck and shatters on the carpet.

farther gone, but never lost the boy who floated off to neverland when he refused to

fucking grow up and please don’t stay the night again, i can’t sleep with knuckle prints

forcing lines into the book you couldn’t ghostwrite. saving face or saving

time

bounced backwards to when liquor                                                                            could have

    cured the both of us.

 

ABOUT MARINA HART

Marina Hart is a poet and writer based out of Boston and Minneapolis. Their work revolves around repressed emotional trauma, liminal spaces, and borderline personality disorder. Their most recent project is a series of poetry and fiction that reclaims “daddy issues” from sexism through a blunt, visceral, and darkly comedic post-trauma perspective. Hart is pursuing their BFA in Creative Writing and Global Studies at Emerson College.