2 poems

by Ashley Gilland

Boy Scouts

Like a clothesline left in darkness to a slow, passionless dry, 

children catch the rain like lily pads

as they stare up at the sky of tent, 

picking at straw 

that had clung to their frayed sweaters. 

Dew forms erratic designs on the netting above 

as clammy skin amasses remaining drips. 

A cricket scuttles up between a junction of limbs, 

whose tarry catches eye 

of the insomniac. 

Moonstruck curiosity follows its collusions

across canisters and fishing line, 

waiting for it to disappear in a dark corner, 

but the tent stretches on. 

Such netting holds back the clouds.

A Bus Window in Mankato, MN

Ice crystals form tiny mountain ranges above

condensation clouds of your breath.

You stare out the window that ruptures two foggy atmospheres: 

your soft exhalations 

and the biting whisper that lurks just outside

as your head tilts toward the latter

and rests on expectation

that glass will never shatter.

Wafers of frost,

tiny and proper

like sculpture gardens

and cake frosting spread artistically uneven.

Some bites are sweeter than others.

Sugar coated windowpanes,

narcotics sleep on glass terrains.

The crystal pillow carves grooves into the wilting canvas,

engraving his cheek with broken patterns -

A hieroglyphic dreamless sleep.

Ashley Gilland is a writer, musician, multimedia artist, and student from Missouri. Find her recent poetry in Currents. When not writing poetry and philosophical flash fiction, she also loves composing and recording music, embroidering mixed media art projects, and helping with the campus radio station. Find her music on Spotify and Bandcamp, her art on Instagram and Etsy (@pocketsnailart), and her tweets at @earlgreysnail.