Poetry, Lili Raynaud
so now we’re in the car listening to David Gray
& “the whole frosted night is just a song”
except it’s summer
and the corn is growing taller by the day
and we both know what it will mean
when the leafy stalks will be cut loose
like metal expanding
the house was old and rusty when i was born
now it’s just old
and the smell of those early days is woven in the walls
staining the air like
peaches growing old in a basket
stone fruit i think :
i am the stone.
i am the ant crawling its way back out
caught by the knife
we will watch the corn grow tall and we will know and say nothing
& i will eat the stoneless fruit happily.
Lili Raynaud is a Parisian-born, New York-based creative writing student — trying to be a poet, among other things. Her work can be found in The Weasel Magazine.
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