"Pink Light" by Vian Borchert
Sam Moe | Bluing Drift
Champagne house is coated in snow. You’re late,
crunching through the ice, rosé tucked beneath
your scarf, everything is fig trees and once-auburn
fields, long abandoned mice traps and the horses
are sleeping in the stables. The air is dry and cold,
steam coils from the roof, you begin to wonder
how long you can hide in the foyer before your life
falls like curtains, before the dinner and the dressage
discussion, you don’t want to forget, you want swan
napkins and a promise to move through this world
together, despite unease, sharp circles in the hands
and neck, you bend to gather clay plates for dinner,
the walls are coated in green paper stamped with birds
perched on stones, honey coils on the stove, someone’s
hands stoke wood fires, others still click their glasses,
toasting confetti and foil balloons, you forget what
the celebration is about, you get lost on the surface
of an embossed knife, constellations and the word
hurt, someone has placed rose-hued dough boughs
near your hands, someone asks how you’re doing
these days, you forget company, lose track of keep,
ice falls like paper stars, someone takes your wrist
a rush to the porch where the day is blue as March
and the coffee has gone cold, you thought there was
a word for this, you remember once it was clear how
to move forward, and with whom, your hands together
despite mittens, and they guided you safely through
the blue frost forest, but what was their name, but how
do you get your heart to beat again, but where did
everyone disappear to and now it’s you, alone and
tired in the pinetum, forgetting to call for help.
crunching through the ice, rosé tucked beneath
your scarf, everything is fig trees and once-auburn
fields, long abandoned mice traps and the horses
are sleeping in the stables. The air is dry and cold,
steam coils from the roof, you begin to wonder
how long you can hide in the foyer before your life
falls like curtains, before the dinner and the dressage
discussion, you don’t want to forget, you want swan
napkins and a promise to move through this world
together, despite unease, sharp circles in the hands
and neck, you bend to gather clay plates for dinner,
the walls are coated in green paper stamped with birds
perched on stones, honey coils on the stove, someone’s
hands stoke wood fires, others still click their glasses,
toasting confetti and foil balloons, you forget what
the celebration is about, you get lost on the surface
of an embossed knife, constellations and the word
hurt, someone has placed rose-hued dough boughs
near your hands, someone asks how you’re doing
these days, you forget company, lose track of keep,
ice falls like paper stars, someone takes your wrist
a rush to the porch where the day is blue as March
and the coffee has gone cold, you thought there was
a word for this, you remember once it was clear how
to move forward, and with whom, your hands together
despite mittens, and they guided you safely through
the blue frost forest, but what was their name, but how
do you get your heart to beat again, but where did
everyone disappear to and now it’s you, alone and
tired in the pinetum, forgetting to call for help.
Sam Moe is the first-place winner of Invisible City’s Blurred Genres contest in 2022. Her first chapbook, “Heart Weeds,” is out from Alien Buddha Press and her second chapbook, “Grief Birds,” is forthcoming from Bullshit Lit in April 2023. You can find her on Twitter and Instagram as @SamAnneMoe.
Vian Borchert is an established artist and poet exhibiting in the US & internationally. Vian is a Notable Alumni from Corcoran GW University. Borchert exhibits in museums and key galleries in major cities like NYC, DC, LA, London. Borchert's art is in embassies and collections worldwide, along with vast coverage in publications. Borchert is an art educator in the Washington DC area. Borchert's artwork can be acquired via "1stDibs" and "Artsy" marketplaces with auctions. Website: www.vianborchert.com
