"not fawns" by Haley King
Two poems by Sloane Scott
Forester's Constant
The cedar waxwing divided by the number of days
I’ve been alone in the forest, plus the tetris effect
of an eastern redcedar stand (their waxed berries
forbidden and delicious), equals it doesn’t often happen
like this: that I miss you even while embedded
in the place where the dissolution between mind
and body reaches its apex. Say the cross-sectional
area of a single tree at breast height lands squarely
on my heart, which is then multiplied by 0.005454,
or the frequency at which the fog of your ghost appears
between branches, causing me to fall on the bed
of juniper needles and cry out. If the sound I make
is anything like the echo a bird leaves behind, trailing
the air even after she’s gone, then I’m owed a gin
and soda. A simpler formula to reimagine disturbance.
I’ve been alone in the forest, plus the tetris effect
of an eastern redcedar stand (their waxed berries
forbidden and delicious), equals it doesn’t often happen
like this: that I miss you even while embedded
in the place where the dissolution between mind
and body reaches its apex. Say the cross-sectional
area of a single tree at breast height lands squarely
on my heart, which is then multiplied by 0.005454,
or the frequency at which the fog of your ghost appears
between branches, causing me to fall on the bed
of juniper needles and cry out. If the sound I make
is anything like the echo a bird leaves behind, trailing
the air even after she’s gone, then I’m owed a gin
and soda. A simpler formula to reimagine disturbance.
Butterfly Oasis
Off the interstate there’s a roundabout
with flowers grown by troubled kids.
The high school liked to give us projects
to save us from ourselves. Maybe
it felt good mixing our hands into
the deep soil, to fluff the trampled
earth. Maybe I liked how I felt
afterward, capable of constructing
a home for the world’s most delicate
citizens. But here’s what happened:
everyone encircled our milkweed
and coreopsis, twice daily. Orange
and black streaks coated minivan
windshields. The younger children cried.
You could almost see the wing pattern
a butterfly left behind as a bus hurtled
forward, ripping the body away from
the glass, exposing the outline. This is it for us,
I thought. No more activities to stimulate
our sorry minds. We graduated with flown
colors. They had other kids build oases
on unbusy street corners. What next?
Naturally, most forgot about the chaos
of butterflies fleeing from their nectar.
Of course, the ground kept accumulating
organic matter in the form of fallen leaves,
and decayed insect corpses. But years
after, I could still see the green fragment
when I closed my eyes, the trap we laid
in perfect design. I could definitely see
the flowers wasting in their enclosure.
with flowers grown by troubled kids.
The high school liked to give us projects
to save us from ourselves. Maybe
it felt good mixing our hands into
the deep soil, to fluff the trampled
earth. Maybe I liked how I felt
afterward, capable of constructing
a home for the world’s most delicate
citizens. But here’s what happened:
everyone encircled our milkweed
and coreopsis, twice daily. Orange
and black streaks coated minivan
windshields. The younger children cried.
You could almost see the wing pattern
a butterfly left behind as a bus hurtled
forward, ripping the body away from
the glass, exposing the outline. This is it for us,
I thought. No more activities to stimulate
our sorry minds. We graduated with flown
colors. They had other kids build oases
on unbusy street corners. What next?
Naturally, most forgot about the chaos
of butterflies fleeing from their nectar.
Of course, the ground kept accumulating
organic matter in the form of fallen leaves,
and decayed insect corpses. But years
after, I could still see the green fragment
when I closed my eyes, the trap we laid
in perfect design. I could definitely see
the flowers wasting in their enclosure.
Sloane Scott (they/them) is a nonbinary lesbian poet from Missouri. They received their BA in English at Northwestern University and are currently pursuing their MS in Forestry at Mizzou. Find them at sloanepoems.com.
Haley King, also known by their artist name GRVNGE LESTAT, is a Chicago based LGBTQ+ mixed media artist who primary uses illustrative methods to construct their body of work and combines that with digitally manipulating their own photography to achieve an effort to create their artistic world that houses themes of hauntingly provoking atmospheres.
Instagram @grvnge.lestat
Tik tok @grungelestat
Instagram @grvnge.lestat
Tik tok @grungelestat
