Oedipus After Exile
The mountain tips stretch towards the sun;
a shutter lens choking the sky, peaks grasping for peaks.
Each footstep turns into yards and yards into
miles and miles into yards again. I’ve reached
toward fields of grain, only to watch my index
finger curve into a scythe. There is a prairie fire
whipping through the river, the orange into blue
and the blue into red and the red into
crimson. Once, my goldfish starved to death.
I cried for minutes, minutes into months. But now
I know the dying was the easy part. Mother
of Malnourishment, bless my body. Mother Memory,
pray that I will fade easy as a firefly’s spark, nothing into
blistering-bright into nothing again.
Alrisha Shea is a high school senior in State College, PA. Their work has appeared or is forthcoming in Crab Fat Magazine, Occulum, and other mags. Their chapbook, Cicada Girl / Locust Boy is forthcoming from Corrupt Press.