Rachel Sizeler-Fletcher

"I am a teenage girl living in rural Maine, and am greatly inspired by the beauty of the natural world around me. Apart from writing poetry, I like to spend time reading, drawing cartoons, playing violin, or dancing while cooking. "

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Instagram: @rachel.b.sf

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Tides

Minutes form hours, form days,
form a cycle, and begging
for turning tables
turning tides
turning into something -- someone else
you perch, periwinkle-like,
memories sprawling  — eating up a twisted granite
altar — flat-out fumbling
delirious on that bare bedrock
watching the waves
predictable and yet — imperceptibly, infinitely
different  —  the water is a paradox,
one iconic mystery —
salt seeps up into the spreading
cracks, crevices, creeping lines
across your eyes, eyelids, islands,
leaving a story
in the sand, along that same silent shore —
retelling tattered tales with worn-down words
circling in closer, closer,
but minutes morph into hours, into days, and
you’re still wondering
why everything feels the same
when nothing ever is

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Expectations ​


What does she want you
to do – to know
how to handle
cadillacs or candles or crying in the street
How do you combat
expectations
if what she expects could be five hundred things
to her – or you
Is everything subjective
or is everything so simple
it’s a joke
Because you cry at a hole in the sidewalk
and laugh when you’re disappearing
up in smoke