Drunk she was.
But not from the caramel brown liquid
that grasped her pouty blood bitten lips.
No. This was different.
Her salty eyes heavy,
weighted by the sandbags tears invited into her
pale virgin face.
Puffy, her apples were no longer gushing red,
like the light of the angels wings.
Maybe it was the cord she pulled
with her frozen toes.
Disconnecting her from life.
There the body of a best friend hung
just by a thread.
Lifeless, she was.
But was it her best friend that died?
Or was it the personality she once had.
The loss of pearls reaching from ear to ear.
Now naked she dances drained,numb to
the little old mexican man's music.
No words to understand, yet the bob
in her head was aloof, the rest of her body wading
through the icy waters of brisk March air.
Drunk she was,
But not from the clear bitter poison she chugged, from her fathers mouth.
From illusions she dreamt of where
only happiness was felt.
And so their she stood, aloof as she bobbed her naked body
Into the brink of sand.
Where the little old mexican man’s music played softly in her hollow head.
Catherine (Catie) Reed, at the age of seventeen, discovered her love for poetry during the joys of COVID. Cooped up in her apartment in Boston, Massachusetts, Catie began to write in hopes of escaping boredom from her online classes, capturing the impacts of solitude against a blank screen. Outside of her Brookline life Catie spends most of her free time in Portsmouth, Rhode Island, listening to music while watching the waves crash over the rocks.