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.
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.