weightless, we exhale our bodies until we are the sky, dampened by night. motes of stars percolate from within us, grasping for the horizon. the constellations hold no answers, and even up here as we mold to atmospheres, our torsos a world apart, we are nowhere, invisible in the alien folds of dimension, our existence gauged by only functionality: the canvas for migration, a presumed lullaby, a pristine sheet blanketing life. we stay primordial and forgotten, a distance reckoned and slipped between the aching curves of our limbs. glued to our vastness, no way of translating this untouchable infiniteness we hold against the sleeping skyline like a cruel promise. we stay foreign bodies in this celestial sphere, warped in the whites of eyes. the dark was once heavenly, like an unfaded homeland. our own tiny universe burning so undoubtedly alive.
Allison Wu is a highschool student from New York. Her work has been recognized by the Alliance for Young Artists & Writers and Hollins University.