Apophenia— a diagnosis, snow-laden branches snapped in the winter storm.
I pick together a retelling—
sticks painted white with my neighbor’s brush.
I pick apart the bark
white then brown then white again
the peeling bone.
wallpaper curls beneath my fingernails.
I think of the hotel room
the shitty hotel art, the picture frame.
its stern cradle around a scene
of snow and wood
sticks painted white
crumbling, pebbles beneath my fingernails
I linger on the white cap pill bottle
little white pebbles, palm crease river
damp white pillows
white cap mountains
shitty hotel art mountains
apophenia- the lot of the tired schizophrenic, the finding of meaning when
there is none.
the gathering of sticks painted white into
the funeral pyre
wet with grease, slick liver of winter
the flicking flame
peels the skin from a cigarette
white then brown
little brown sticks
Edited by Jamie Chen.
LAUREN CALDWELL is a queer, 20-year-old poet from San Francisco, California. She attends Lewis and Clark College in Portland, majoring in English and rhetoric and media studies. Lauren explores, through her work, her struggles as a young person grappling with bipolar disorder. She hopes to use writing to promote introspection and healing for all.