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Suddenly, her dorm room feels too small
Three poems by Casey Cromwell
The First Spark
- One girl and one boy:
- just talking, then falling.
- Suddenly, her dorm room feels
- too small, two souls peeled
- clean and raw, like copper wires
- stripped, electricity whipping
- silent sparks, dancing and daring,
- as faces flush and legs brush,
- spellbinding and scaring,
- Until the skin becomes trained
- to crave those shocks like the flame
- that keeps a hearth cozy and warm
- even during the coldest of storms.
Crash and Burn
- I stare down at blistered
- skin now branded by the oven
- days after he cremated my heart.
- Both accidents, I suppose,
- from heat, hypnotic as fireflies:
- the smell of baked cinnamon hugging
- my nostrils or sparks from a
- stray thumb tracing my thigh.
- At age eight, I dreamed of soaring into space
- but I didn’t spy stars in his eyes —
- I found the sun, so bright it stings, scorching
- my wings. Until I
- fall.
- Like the tray of cookies,
- when hot steel kisses flesh.
- The tray doesn’t shatter at impact.
- I do.
WHO AM I?
- If my soles rooted into the ground,
- I’d reign over ’Carolina hills
- without a sound
- ’til the night it/I screamed,
- struck — by lightning now bound
- with bark in a splintered
- scar — but not struck down.
- Under lights of the city,
- I am a telephone pole tailored
- in the skin of that tree/me.
- It/I always buzz, so busy
- recording strangers’ lives
- with ink or electricity
- because stolen words sound
- less wooden
- than my choppy journal entries.
- Dancing along both trunks,
- another it/me I’d find: a squirrel
- hoarding dreams like domes of pine.
- Most seeds strangle on dirt and die
- while a few bloom and multiply (much
- like one simple question planted
- this poem of mine).
- Perhaps if nature acts as my mirror,
- even once my soul withers,
- in an it, I can reappear.
Casey Cromwell has published poetry, fiction, and creative nonfiction in Point Loma Nazarene University’s literary magazine, winning third place for poetry during her sophomore year. She also writes a successful blog (caseythecollegeceliac.blogspot.com) and has written for Further Food, Beyond Celiac, and San Diego Writers, Ink. She is currently a senior writing major at PLNU.
Here's something you might be interested in.
Suddenly, her dorm room feels too small
Three poems by Casey Cromwell
Suddenly, her dorm room feels too small
Three poems by Casey Cromwell
The First Spark
- One girl and one boy:
- just talking, then falling.
- Suddenly, her dorm room feels
- too small, two souls peeled
- clean and raw, like copper wires
- stripped, electricity whipping
- silent sparks, dancing and daring,
- as faces flush and legs brush,
- spellbinding and scaring,
- Until the skin becomes trained
- to crave those shocks like the flame
- that keeps a hearth cozy and warm
- even during the coldest of storms.
Crash and Burn
- I stare down at blistered
- skin now branded by the oven
- days after he cremated my heart.
- Both accidents, I suppose,
- from heat, hypnotic as fireflies:
- the smell of baked cinnamon hugging
- my nostrils or sparks from a
- stray thumb tracing my thigh.
- At age eight, I dreamed of soaring into space
- but I didn’t spy stars in his eyes —
- I found the sun, so bright it stings, scorching
- my wings. Until I
- fall.
- Like the tray of cookies,
- when hot steel kisses flesh.
- The tray doesn’t shatter at impact.
- I do.
WHO AM I?
- If my soles rooted into the ground,
- I’d reign over ’Carolina hills
- without a sound
- ’til the night it/I screamed,
- struck — by lightning now bound
- with bark in a splintered
- scar — but not struck down.
- Under lights of the city,
- I am a telephone pole tailored
- in the skin of that tree/me.
- It/I always buzz, so busy
- recording strangers’ lives
- with ink or electricity
- because stolen words sound
- less wooden
- than my choppy journal entries.
- Dancing along both trunks,
- another it/me I’d find: a squirrel
- hoarding dreams like domes of pine.
- Most seeds strangle on dirt and die
- while a few bloom and multiply (much
- like one simple question planted
- this poem of mine).
- Perhaps if nature acts as my mirror,
- even once my soul withers,
- in an it, I can reappear.
Casey Cromwell has published poetry, fiction, and creative nonfiction in Point Loma Nazarene University’s literary magazine, winning third place for poetry during her sophomore year. She also writes a successful blog (caseythecollegeceliac.blogspot.com) and has written for Further Food, Beyond Celiac, and San Diego Writers, Ink. She is currently a senior writing major at PLNU.
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