Dreamcatcher

Photography by Luna Vallejo, staff writer.

She turns back the sands of her hourglass hips, weaves

gilded wings onto her shattered spine so she can soar

through the winds like Icarus, infinite, illuminated,

innocent even with purple moons smeared

under both eyes, even with the weight of the

world on her brittle backbone that breaks

with every step, every breath

she takes

She’s only nineteen but she’s died a thousand and

one deaths but here, she sheds her sorrow like

rattlesnake scales, slithers into cathedrals

and calls herself holy once more

Here, she counts constellations instead of calories,

swings the wishbones of her legs as if she were

weightless, a wildflower in the wind, a

spindly-limbed stained-glass saint, her

smile a promise or a warning all at

once

Here, there is no bitter taste of suburbia to

choke down, no need to slide rust-bolt

smiles onto her chipped cheeks

Here, she is hip-swaying, feet-stomping,

arms-waving, here, she is a runaway

star that wears her rust with pride,

here, she is finally free

Luna Vallejo is a writer who hails from New York. A New York City Youth Poet Laureate finalist, her work has been recognized by the Scholastic Art and Writing Awards and literary magazines such as Kalopsia Lit and Moonflake Press. When she is not writing, you can find her dissecting song lyrics, re-reading her favorite novels, and collecting vinyl records.