Poetry by Karissa Satchwell

of september

 

 

i skidded across picnic tables in the dark
it was cold as i dug hands into pockets too shallow
of a jacket that isnt mine and wouldnt be
because sometimes im judgmental and hate those big brands
how they yell and explode across my chest
oh so dramatically

maybe its fitting

we were trying to find a connection
but some things arent worth what they ask for them
some things turn into big ordeals
while others more important remain undiscussed
and thrown in the corner with the dirty clothes

i skidded on the stones
pale and bright compared to the mud and the trees
i waited for my shoes to slip completely
but they never did

which makes me think of 2:30am phones calls
which are never accidents no matter who says it
but there are times when its just necessary to hear him say something
say bits and pieces directly to me even though he didnt know it right then

weekend nights bleed together
add a dash or shower of laughter that makes my chest ache

i could make lists of all we did
i could ramble about videos, ice cream cartons, and mistakes
but it can all be summed up by telling you that there were train tracks
and a friend and i stood near them

we should hop on and just leave, just go, we said
but as the lights passed by, it rumbled louder than expected

my body shook a little and i knew clearly, briefly why i want him

 

mostly minus maybe

 

 

somedays im a little less than okay
as i curl fetally against a vent
that spews out half-formed almost promises
about cold fronts coming
about me finally being able to cure restless tendons
with a thunderstorm to my forehead

laying there makes slide shows play
images of crouching in slick bathtubs
and i wonder what the bottom of yours looks like
i wonder if you look at that tornado escaping by drain
and think of all those hints i could have given you

which leads me to thinking
of those morse code signals you tapped out with blinks
that were quick like wings that dont flap around here
much anymore unless you know proper signs
to interpret, which i dont and never have
because even when theres objects left behind
i find a way to disregard the solid and despair over
what could have been there if i wasnt

but i only trail off like this
i only roll over to make muscles sleep deeper
on somedays, which in translation means
most days, but with hair in my face
and you dissolved along my membrane
no one is counting

 

how to swim

 

how can a pulsating organ
slide shake and sink
all in a matter of minutes

i went from holding onto something that seemed tangible
for the first time, warm and closer than expected
then you spoke, of people and my pessimism
not knowing that i was not leaning on the negative spectrum that second
not knowing how hopeful my limbs had grown
as they moved quickly, sweat soaked
wanting to ask for a hand to hold

you are not mine for the taking
but i am never certain enough to reach anyways

for im not the receiver of your morning-after breakfast platters
and i dont own a cellular device to call when you are driving in the dark
asking what is the matter, knowing how you are

your eyes are blue enough to drown me
and they almost did on a scorching mid-day
as we collided briefly leaving you laughing
leaving me bone-drenched with too much to say

 

Karissa Satchwell is still in high school. She lives in KY. When people tell her she’ll change her mind about writing, she rolls her eyes. She also likes rewatching movies, rereading books, music, and daydreaming.



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One response to “Poetry by Karissa Satchwell

  1. Wow… I like your poems.
    They tell me a lot about you.

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