Thoughts at a Zoo

Tiny, brown, innocent eyes
that have only seen the world for a year
peer over the cheep, run-down wood
as gentle, yet clumsy fingers
perch on layers of dirt.
A child never cares much
for the unseen: germs, problems
beyond their own limited knowledge.
They only care for wondrous
things, new things to them,
yet so old and dull to us:
a spotted leaf, a ray of sunlight.
When is it that we lose
the eyes of a child?
The trust of innocence?
At what age to we lose
the need to see a caged animal
or ride a reckety red train?
What has to happen before
our eyes for us to lose

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poem by Zoe Guillory
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Christmas Eve

Glitter twinkled at my fingertips.
As if the angles themselves had sent
songbirds. Singing softly.
The Christmas lights became stars
as the sun sunk into sleep.
The smell of cold and gumbo
clung to the air as we huddled on the floor.
Paper was torn as each pair of hands
opened their box of Mystery.
I shed a silent tear
when I tore my silver paper
and undid my blue ribbon
and found an empty box.
I closed it gently. Thanked the donor.
Turned to see a strange child
sitting on the floor
beside me.
Her clear blue eyes stared
at the empty tree.
Emotionless.

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poem by Zoe Guillory
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The Day the Piano Came

His fingers caressed the new, shiny keys, pulling out the strings
of Chopin melodies and chords that tugged at the heart.
We had never heard anything so beautiful as the gentle notes
that rolled into my ears, soft and warm. I shivered
in this warmth. It was too beautiful. This man
was a genius, bringing us this new and beautiful happiness.

That night, while everyone slept, I crept downstairs
and sat at the new piano. The smooth white glistened
under my curious fingertips. They itched to play.
This was a real piano.
I had never seen such an elegantly monstrous instrument,
and it was right here, in my house, under my fingers.
I was wrapped in bliss that night, and in the years
that followed, that silent piano brought me peace.

poem by Zoe Guillory
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When Memories End

I stared down at the body in the casket.
Small, broken: her body like my soul.
Everyone bent to kiss her head;
I did not. I did not want Death
to be passed on to me. I did not want
to be ended. I had had no time.
Time to express each and every idea.
What they meant to me.
My memories and why I stored them.
Time to learn others' ideas
and morph and shape them
until I could finally understand.
My heart raced against itself
in a race with no winner.
My breath came out in sputters and tears
flooded the casket before me.
WHAT IF I WOULDN'T HAVE TIME...
And I kissed her forehead.
Her ideas were no longer in use,
her memories erased from the Book

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poem by Zoe Guillory
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Time Ticks

Reach out and rewind your clock before
it melts away like the flow
of crimson from a dying animal
that slowly loses its color,
for your clock ticks like a metronome
keeping time until the very last
beat of the song. Mend
your clock until your last
note is sung and your breath
is taken away from you. Before
the shadow that advances like water
filling in every crack gets to you,
rewind your clock to stay alive
and rid yourself of the tang
of fresh blood and the menacingly silent
ticking of your clock. Simply wrap
your trembling hand around the cool,
slippery surface of your timekeeper,
and rid your world of the stench
of Death. Or will you simply awaken

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poem by Zoe Guillory
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Shadows on the Water

Water stretched out before me. A lake of crystals, filled
with overlapping rocks along the bottom. A few jutted out.
One could only guess what lay beneath them, but I did not worry
about what was below me. I did not worry about the Unknown,
for how could I worry about what I did not know was there?
Instead, I worried about the shadows that I cast,
the picture of me that was not me that covered up the world.

I leaped into the water, but my shadow followed me.
I am never alone.
Anywhere I go, I have my mark with me; the mark of darkness.
The mark that everyone has. Like a signature.
A signature that is always there and can be copied with ease.

The sun set as the moon rose. My shadow became less
prominent, and yet it was always there, following me.

poem by Zoe Guillory
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I Still Miss You

When you find me sitting under my own shadow
under our tree
and it's raining but my face
was wet anyway,
all I can think of is you.
When I'm alone in my room because I'm afraid
someone will find me
and the sun won't come in,
all I can think of is you.
When I carry Death on my shoulder
and the whole world is ashes
and I only dream of Bliss,
all I can think of is you.
When the stars have all fallen
and the moon is as alone as I am
and the warmth of music is not a comfort,
all I can think of is you.

And the green of the grass,
the warmth of my blanket,

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poem by Zoe Guillory
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Broken Water

As I stand out gazing at the fantasical landscape before me,
I see the waterfalls breaking water and throwing it around amoung
the glittering, curling plants as they drink the sparkling silver water.
It was breathtaking.
More beautiful than the sunset over pure salt water.
I wanted to touch it.
I wanted to pick the flowers glowing with life and bathein the broken water. Clence my hair under the fall
and air-dry on the faces
of the midnight boulders.
The stones would be cold,
the water would be slippery and stain my skin,
and the flowers would smell as if dipped in summer.
I was going to touch it.
I stepped towards the oasis.
My paradise disappeared out of my reach. Out of Man's reach.
I was left alone. Happiness was no longer in front of me.
My head was spinning.
I was so close to an ecstacy,
but I had ruined it all through my greed.

poem by Zoe Guillory
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Child of the Dawn

In the small hours of the morning, I sat alone, outside
on a bench that smelled of wood and the old women
that sat there Sunday afternoons to watch the children
playing at the park. I ran my hand against
the smooth wood, a splinter lodging itself into my palm.
I winced and looked into the trees at just the right
instant. The sun was rising behind the branches
like a fish rising through seaweed. Hesitant.
As if afraid of what the water will do to it.
My friend broke into a smile as it was greeted by the pink
and soft orange sky around it, soon giving way to perfect blue.
A pure, motionless blue that went on forever, never
faltering, never ashamed to be the 'sad color'
that was simply a mistake of the People. It knew itself
to mean happiness and beauty. The beauty of the world.
The day dragged on, but it was a nice blue sky day
as the Child of the Dawn traveled across it.

poem by Zoe Guillory
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Schizophrenia

And so I closed my eyes, my soul shielded
They'll never find me through the smoke.
by the darkness. Protected by the warmth
Like a blanket. I should rest here.
of the wildfire that lay before me.
The flames smell of Blood and Hope
The ashes blanketed the ground:
and the ashes float with my footsteps
a ground made from layers of dust
The dust will swallow me.
left by countless fires of the past.
I must find Home.
By flames only quenched by suffocation.
Suffocation! My suffocation!
And I felt the heat of those flames, too.
But Home is hiding from me.
They licked at my fingers, but I ran.
My fingers were frozen. Red and frostbitten
And no matter how fast I ran, they ran
Home will be gone soon. I must find it.

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poem by Zoe Guillory
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