What I’d Tell You If I Could 

i.
Before everything turned to dust,
to grey soot before my unseeing eyes, 
Before I walked through life as a woman 
who still delighted in that feeling 
of desire of heat emanating 
from the wicked depths of a stranger  

ii. 
It was here that I wrote these mementos 
on crisp hotel paper, the ink free-flowing, staining
the carpet below, much like I would mere moments
later. The floral wallpaper, wilted and curling around 
corners of what I now know to be my last sanctuary, 
has never been changed — but who dares disturb 

iii.
This slumber. Elusive as redemption. 3:18 a.m. 
always, the alarm clock gets stuck at this ungodly hour 
as if to keep my stagnant energy company, 
as if it could somehow change my fate 

iv.
Who are you, then, to complain of this room  —
the blessed radiator in the corner that far outlasted
	whatever remnant of life I tried to salvage
that god-awful lace pillow that pink faded color coagulating 
	with the filth of a thousand unworthy bums
grinding away at all hours of the night with no regard 
	for all the lonely souls that came before? 

All the Spells You’ve Harbored

 
Traversing the uncanny valley
evokes a sense of wrong geometry
having never been fully accustomed
to the delirium of the shadow world
 
Her neighbor refuses to cut those hedges
blocking drivers’ views, so the silent city 
grotesquely smiles, eager to gorge on bloated 
first fruits of the living before year’s end
 
Mother's fig tree is barren this year,
full diaphanous leaves tauntingly
upturned to receive the blessing yet
unwilling to reciprocate the sacrifice



Originally posted to HelloPoetry in 2020 

Fragments

In the center realm
my awareness grows;
unbeknownst to him, I am
no longer the doe-eyed child
claimed (bound) by naivete
 
He slithers forth now
the attempts to parade
his glossy new image as
futile as the re-branding
of the Cecil – 
an ornate and stately
synagogue of sorrow
 
Darkening corridors
leading to nowhere
harbor secrets we've buried
alongside our dead –
where are they now?
 
A forgotten foretelling
paces warily in an
impenetrable glass cage
 
Under a quaint blood moon
he dresses his story again in
off-white flimsy shrouds
 
Only the filth remains.





Originally posted to HelloPoetry in 2020 

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Melody Wang currently resides in sunny Southern California with her dear husband. In her free time, she dabbles in piano composition and also enjoys hiking, baking, and playing with her dogs. She can be found on Twitter @MelodyOfMusings.  

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