The Lonely Ones by Kelsey Sutton Read Free Book Online Page B

break.
    I sit in class,
    studiously avoiding
    the stares and whispers
    that haven’t stopped
    since the night of the party.
    I can’t bring myself
    to look at Matthew or Mary;
    Anna’s still avoiding me.
    Halfway through the hour
    someone puts a drawing
    down in front of me.
    I look at Carl,
    who looks back
    with honest eyes.
    I turn my gaze
    to the lines of his pen,
    see what he’s created.
    He’s drawn a picture of me,
    a version of myself
    I have never known:
    his Fain is not lonely
    or timid.
    She is a warrior
    with a flashing sword,
    streaming hair,
    expression fierce.
    I know
    she can do anything.
    I lift my head
    to thank Carl
    but he is already drawing again,
    putting his own truths to paper
    where anyone
    who cares to look
    can see them.

Twisted Sheets
    I am standing
    on a mountain made of tongues,
    all of them wriggling,
    shouting at me
    in a thousand different languages.
    I am walking
    down a street
    empty of all but
    wistful breezes
    sighing stars
    creaking doors.
    I am being eaten
    alive by crows,
    their beaks
    pecking and poking and tearing.
    I am in a grave
    with the bell rope
    next to my hand,
    but I can’t move
    to ring it.
    And then I am being shaken awake,
    listening to a low whisper
    that tells me everything is all right,
    I’m safe.
    â€œMom?” I whisper,
    open my eyes
    to her dim outline.
    â€œYou were having a bad dream,” she says,
    her palm a cool spot
    on my skin.
    I grab her hand
    and hold it tight,
    reassure myself
    this isn’t another dream.
    â€œDon’t leave,” I say.
    She doesn’t speak,
    just slides down
    into the space beside me,
    tucks the covers
    around us both.
    She reeks
    of cheeseburgers and coffee,
    but I don’t mind one bit.
    For a few minutes
    we breathe in sync,
    Dana still sound asleep
    till I feel myself
    slipping away.
    Then a movement
    yanks me back
    to the present;
    my mother twitches and smiles
    as if she’s caught
    in a thrilling dream.
    I wonder
    if she’s floated amongst
    the stars, too.

Fruit
    At breakfast
    I find an apple
    in the fridge.
    Think of the boy
    from New Orleans,
    hesitate,
    put it back.
    Take
    an orange instead.

Wings
    Today
    the cafeteria is
    made of only eyes and whispers.
    My tree
    seems far away
    now that the teachers
    have deemed it too cold
    to eat outside.
    Matthew sits in the corner
    with Mary Mosley,
    a king on his plastic throne.
    I hesitate,
    clutch my tray.
    He catches my stare.
    Even now
    the sight of him
    makes the birds in my stomach
    flutter.
    Anna sits beside them,
    looks at me,
    struggle written plainly
    across her face.
    We both know
    she doesn’t belong
    with the Mary Mosleys
    of the world.
    But sometimes it feels impossible
    to leave the familiar behind.
    I can’t help her;
    there are some battles
    we must fight on our own.
    Then,
    a voice.
    â€œFain! Sit with me,” Dana demands.
    I settle under
    my sister’s wing,
    tucked around me
    warm and safe.

The Rink
    That night
    I open my eyes to once again see
    my sister’s face above me,
    a pale moon rising
    over the horizon
    of our room.
    â€œGet up,” Dana orders.
    She won’t answer any questions,
    but I ask them all the same.
    By the time I get to the door,
    she and Tyler
    are already there.
    The three of us
    sneak out,
    walk the six blocks
    to the rink.
    Our snow pants swish,
    heavy boots clomp.
    We creep onto the ice
    and our bladeless feet
    don’t matter:
    we fall
    and laugh
    and glide
    and spin.
    Every time
    I hit the ground,
    they reach down
    and pull me up.
    All my nights
    with the monsters
    cannot compare to this.

Endings
    Later that night
    the monsters visit me
    even though I haven’t called them.
    Still,
    I take hold of their hands
    and climb back out
    into the cold.
    The dongs of the clock
    fade fast behind us.
    The monsters
    are more fearless than usual.
    We fly with a flock of honking geese
    across the midnight moon.
    I think of gliding over ice,
    holding tight to Dana