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Lunar
by Saquina Karla C. Guiam
Lunar
Mother says it’s just a phase
and I wished I had replied with
does that make me a moon?
I wouldn’t mind being as such;
we have been moons for generations,
most of the time we are swallowed up
by that great serpent named Expectation.
Some of us survive:
a beacon amidst the sea
of rules and regulations,
shedding that insidious tar off our shining skins.
This is just a phase, says the echo
of a slowly burning construct.
I reply I will wax and wane until I rise,
nestled in the arms of a sky that wants me.
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Lux
by Saquina Karla C. Guiam
Lux
Maybe we should stop telling stories of how the light heals
and start talking how much it hurts when you’re outside:
every drop of sunbeam sinking
into
your
skin
and
​
gutting [you]
from
the
(inside).
Saquina Karla C. Guiam
Saquina Karla C. Guiam is a Best of the Net-nominated poet. On occasion, she writes prose. Her work has appeared on Glass: A Journal of Poetry, The Maine Review, Outlook Springs, The Shade Journal, Geoliterary, and others. She is the Roots nonfiction editor at Rambutan Literary and an editor for Umbel & Panicle. Her first micro-chapbook, Skysea, was part of Ghost City Press' 2017 Summer Chapbook Series.