Her by Caitlin C


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Her

You, as a field full of flowers growing as high as my hips, high as my shoulders. You, as the flowers, swallowing me up whole. You, as christmas morning—as the lights, as the metaphors. You, as the poet. You, as the poem.

You, as the feeling I get in my chest when that song comes on the radio. You, as the song. You, as the gentle hum of your body next to my body. You, as the warmth— as home.

You, as a point on the map— as a plane ticket—as a grocery list for two. You, as sunlight over water, over pavement, over childhood homes and every picnic table every lover has ever carved initials into. You, as the sun.

You, as a forest fire. You, as a flash flood—as an earthquake—as the first warning cries of the apocalypse. You, as news headline pinned to a wall to mark the day the world changed.



Caitlin C

Caitlin C is a tiny ball of stress and glitter that fancies herself a poet on the good days more than the bad ones. She’s bad at math and would probably rather be showing you pictures of her cats. Visit her at watercvlours.tumblr.com