Pluck the pockmarked pods, pale green eggs pointed perpetually up, I trace tough husks in the safety of my pocket. They are stretched-out teardrops, bleeding milk that clots in bitter yellow, I will split the seam, peel back the skin so the nest of stringy veins within spills out, pulls away from seeds like dragon scales that cling to slick feather-fluff, their getaway car, air balloon to catch the breeze, become a sprawling spider of dandelion wings, drift on autumn winds, forget the feel of gravity, snow that falls up instead of down. Now, in my pocket I hold a hundred lifeless lives waiting to alight on unknown lands
Adelaide Gifford (she/her) is a recent graduate of Hamilton College in New York, where she majored in Creative Writing and double-minored in Hispanic Studies and Environmental Studies. Her favorite genre to write is a mixture of nature writing and fantasy, with a bit of magical realism thrown in, and her favorite authors include Richard Powers, Harper Lee, Billy Collins, and Brandon Mull. She has previously published a short story, “Bullfight,” in Sucarnochee Review, and poems in Applause Literary Magazine, Kudzu Review, and Furrow Literary Magazine, among others. When she’s not writing, she enjoys hanging out with her dog and exploring the natural world. Instagram @adelaideluciagifford.
