Britney Franco

My eyes are on yours Looking for my body in the dark pools of your pupils And my mind is in a dark suburban town Where the milkman delivers clanking bottles To the homes of disenchanted Gen Xers. You label me an old soul but I digress. I am the broken bones you find on a beach On your lonely vacation, too worn down to Provide an exact time frame. Ageless. I could have been lying dormant as An existential crisis since the late seventies When you made a suicide pact with the neighbor You would never see again Or preceding the birth of the universe. Buddhists say that there is a source of And path out of suffering. But they do not know, do not say How to save yourself from a cycle of Emotional disconnect, of perpetual floating On the sands of time, How to embrace introspection’s anchor Like a long-lost brother. Untitled, 2014 by Minna Gilligan