Albany, May 4th and Other Poems

By Morgan G. Cairns

Albany, May 4^th

Step out into the almost-night

Where the sky is still blue,

But not navy—no,

Not yet—

And the rough cement steps

Carry you down to the pavement

Spattered with heavy, 

Wet drops.



There is a breeze—

No, not a breeze,

Something greater than that—

A stormy wind

That builds in your lungs,

Settles in your blood,

And makes you tilt your head back

To wish on the only star visible.



The trees begin to sway—

No, they do not sway.

They dance,

Limbs extended in invitation,

Catching your shadow’s arms

As they entreat you to join

Their rustling praise

Of Creation.

Writer, 9:33 PM

Something raw settles

in my throat,

heavy and immovable.

It darkens my tone

and lowers my voice.

The weight of it 

scratches, catches 

all my words

as they fill my mouth;

they taste like lemons

when they touch my tongue.

I try to swallow them,

keep them inside, 

but they climb from behind

my teeth,

all my secrets spilling

onto the tiled floor. 

Guise

Called me your sister

as we opened the doors today,

and there is something sweet

in being the sibling

of an only child.

Wonder if they all thought it, too,

the old men and the college flame

in the bookshop this afternoon,

the way you hoped

they did.

You wore a blue tank top,

freckles on display,

faded pink socks

under your slide-ons.

We laughed 

about modern poetry,

smoothie seeds sticking

in my teeth,

books piled on the café table

and I thought:

yes. This. 

This is what it’s like

to have a brother.  

Morgan G. Cairns is a poet with a bachelor’s degree in writing. Poetry is her native language; it helps her make sense of the world and her emotions. Her work has appeared in Corvid Queen and The Game of Nerds. When she is not writing, she can be found working at her local library, or listening to twenty one pilots.