Thanks for agreeing to chat with us! Let’s start with the obvious. Why is creating so important to you?
When the salvagers saw the Volkswagen brain,
they intended to scrap it for parts. Instead,
the animal malfunctioned itself back to life,
switched on autopilot and prayed, please,
for the love of all unseen flowerbeds, work.
Okay…how intriguing! Sorry if it’s rude of me to ask, but why are you speaking like that?
On mornings when the sky is pink and soft,
able to breathe new life into cracked asphalt,
I become something pretty. Maybe, the leaves
seem to say, you’re the clumpy moss you find
in every makeshift garden you’ve ever loved.
I’m sorry, but I’m not following. Can you try to help me understand?
It’s all rotten work, and it peels like dried glue.
Nighttime shines with black intimacy and I feel
my eyelids melt with sunsets. Poesy means
poem. If we’re incomputable to other universes,
do Pampas grasses then become too flowery?
I’m very confused…are you alright? Was it something I said?
I don’t need to make sense to you I can veer
into potholes I can drive right off a scenic
cliffside view! My brain’s sludge is hopelessly
infatuated, she wants to intertwine her body
with the oil leak. Hell, I’m not even driving!
Alright, I think it’s time to start wrapping this up, so if–
I like the pulse that’s made when I decide
to start whacking out some nonsense rhythm
on the steering wheel. With enough traveling
and time, I’ll learn a tune with a resonance
that invites the snowflakes to waltz with me.
That’s all the time we have. Thank you.
M. J. Ridley
M. J. Ridley is working towards an English (creative writing emphasis) major, with environmental writing and education minors. Her aspiration is to become an English teacher at the high school level. She is an emerging writer, with no published pieces at the time of submission. She uses a pseudonym.