ghost town lamentations

there is—little—beauty in what is left.

years ago i would’ve believed that the

street light would flicker and revive, just as

monsoon rain would sink its teeth into my

throat. that a little boy would blow bubblegum

on the stoop and carve fragmented dreams

on grubby palms. that the seductive sun would

linger on the crevices of the skyline, just to

let the canyons of my chest reverberate. that asphalt

would etch mosaics on the ribcage of a passing

caravan. that i would find solace in this

pocket of certainties.

today, i pack my things. forgive the cicada

wings for shedding so soon. no matter, there

will be a funeral. day bleeds into my mattress

and into night. foolishly, i allow it.

Naomi Ling is a Sino-American student poet and editor on the East Coast, USA. Her poetry and prose often grapple with identity, nostalgia, and most importantly of all, returning to her roots. The Editor-in-Chief of up-and-coming Gossamer Lit and an editor for Interstellar Review, her work has been recognized with National Gold and Silver Medals by the Scholastic Writing Awards, is a Top Ten winner of the 2020 Poetic Power Contest, and is published or forthcoming in Cathartic Lit, Heritage Review, Ice Lolly Review, and Trouvaille Review, among other journals. She strongly believes that inspiration strikes her best when she closes her eyelids at night. Find her at https://naomilingg.carrd.co/.