Ellen St

By Kristy Lueshen

Imagine yourself in a house made of weathered
wilting lilacs, tulips, lilies
built at first with stone that    turned
pungent and soft
                                                     organic.
The flowers feed you broth and lemon water
their crowed petals dainty in the    dusklight
you sense their decay, an effervescent        but floral
                                                      disease

as you yourself wither amid the bare knees of
existence. Glass melts, too, over time. The windows
sag and droop like copper kettles left         on the flame
for an eternity of 
                                                      waiting.

Imagine yourself drinking tea from the last of your
heirloom teacups,
condensed steam dribbling down the sides
                                                   and bergamot
drifts across the table.

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Kristy Lueshen is a queer writer and librarian living in Chicago. She has a Master's in Library Science from the University of Illinois and a Master's in History from DePaul University. Her creative work focuses on memory, nostalgia, and surrealism, while her academic work focuses on radical feminism and social movements. She can be found baking bread and taking naps with her cats in northwest Chicago.