"Bea is a lover of all things colorful whether it be people, places, or things. She loves filmmaking, writing, and curating Campbell Hall's art gallery, but also spends a considerable amount of time baking cakes and eating breakfast food.”
Aglow
Tonight the hills burnt red, then whiteTrees cherried like wrapping paper in a Christmas fireBefore returning to dustMushrooms of grey, suffocations of black perfumeDragging something honest from broad, pink lungsTerrible in its grace, as personal as slipping a finger into someone else’s warm, open woundIntimateAnd I fell right throughSober with warmth, enclosed in its sacrificial beautyGilded rocks and dead animals,fulgurating stars on earthWhen I woke up, my hand was asleepon my stomach and you were smilinglike a person who just came home