Sarah Mills | Two poems
bedroom door. That’s how it started. How it ended, I
can’t remember. Most of the time, I don’t know if I’m
dreaming or awake. At 2 a.m., I got this idea for an
entertainment business called Bird Facts where I recite
facts about birds into a megaphone for birthdays,
graduation parties. Did you know the red-tailed
hawk has a third eyelid called a nictitating membrane?
It helps keep its eyes clean. The red-tailed hawk is a
jack-of-all-trades because of its diversity. I want to
know what it does when it can’t sleep. Does it
listen to music and dream itself into a song?
Music on its tongue, does it wake up singing?
Nocturnal birds: Nightjar. Frogmouth. Kakapo. My
obsessions keep me up, so let me obsess over barred owls.
Parakeets. Swallows. Herons. Birds with fancy names, like
Queen Carola’s six-wired-bird-of-paradise. You asked if I
remember happiness. I barely remember being okay. I want to
sleep on water like a swan. Let the sun escort me across a lake.
Turn on Debussy, drown out the image of me floating
under a papier mâché bridge, my thoughts spiraling like
vultures circling prey. There’s a truth I’m reaching for, but
when I write it, the words echo. Like the call of a
Xingu scale-backed antbird in a forest. I couldn’t answer when
you asked if I remember happiness. But I can tell you about how
zebra finches lip-sync in their sleep. How they, too, dream of singing.
was that I’d wake up one day and everything
would be different. I’d stop apologizing—
not to others, but to myself. For being.
For taking up space. That when I sing,
people will crawl inside my voice to rest.
She said I see a dress. It’s pink with a tulle gown
and sequined bodice. It’s swaying on a wire hanger
inside a vertical coffin. I explained that on prom night
I curled up on the loveseat in my bedroom
and hugged my stomach. I dream about emptiness,
how it occupies its own kind of space. I wake up
and mark another X on the calendar.
Of course, she asked about the man.
I told her it’s like I’m looking through a telescope.
Sometimes it’s me on the other end, sometimes
it’s him. I don’t know where he ends
and I begin, but we’re both unreachable.
She said oh, honey, tracing the lines of my palm.
Oh, honey, she said, you’re too bright for this.
I said I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I don’t want to be a star.
Maybe just the space between two stars.
Valentina's diverse background has allowed her to gain experience in various disciplines, and enrich her multi-cultural heritage and unique perspective, continuing her journey into the play of light and color, capturing the essence of the world that envelops us, while remaining firmly grounded in the realms of pleasure and aesthetics. Valentinas' work draws profound inspiration from the dynamic culture and lush landscapes of her homeland, Colombia.
