by Olivia Mistelle Maxell

If you happen to see Haley Jo
tell her our Leviticus sin became
a stepping stone, for hours of
seconds to expand throughout
the unknown.

Tell her we had no choice but to stretch
the time far past its unexpected span—
To reach down and pull out frozen 
rocks from the Devil’s hand.

Show her the miles that made shadows
of the dead examples we had no choice 
but to execute in a room of rusted locks;
keeping our minds wandering within 
different painted masks of broken 
winged gray flocks.

Show her the graves each divide of our 
sanity sleeps below to block out the night. 
Take her finger and help her outline the 
courage that looms down from the moon’s 
unreachable light. 

Give her the promise that each day whines 
up the flammable struggles we started long 
ago, and if she holds on tight, our hearts will 
not die from consequence’s blinding fold. 

Give her a moment to inhale the sound 
from an art of thriving which shakes the 
forever rumbling chalice ground. 

Let her know: I’m so sorry I couldn’t save her…
I couldn’t even save me. 
We got tangled up in the roots of this 
crystallized brittle tree—
never knowing a better place to just be.

Teach her to rage the quivering of my crying 
hum that rattles the insides of a growing 
rhythm planted within a medicated bottle, 
keeping branches of my hurt unattached 
and numb.

If you see Haley Jo, tell her to warm
herself by the cold flames resting in
between the friction of our harbored ties,
giving our chances a release
from the pulpits ascetic lies.

If you happen see Haley Jo—
tell her Anna says hello…

©All contents and rights reserved