Ryan E Moore (16)
no jokes during war
i am a lonely plane suspended over an unforgiving ocean
and i was once a soldier, too
so should i saddle this silver horse?
ride it into a sunset like those movies you like?
dig the dust out from under my nails and keep my little plastic idols?
this old military wanderlust
fills my aluminum body to capacity
because homes don’t excuse each other
a new house doesn’t replace an old one
instead, they stack up
and eight homes in eleven years clutters up fast
i hate looking in your eyes
knowing you gave up
on looking truthfully into mine
“did he, like, kill people?”
well, did you?
you’ve said you carried their bodies
but i think
instead of laying them at the edge of a battlefield
you slung them across my back
i’ll carry the weight for you as long
as you stop looking at me
with half-lidded eyes
i still want to travel far away, despite all i’ve built here
i know it’s just military wanderlust
because i feel at home
in those last few lazy sunbeams
cast across my own battlefield
did you ever fight like this?
eyes rolling and shots ringing long after the battle was over?
do the fireworks bother you?
would you be able to point out what sort of plane i am
like all those times you gestured through our sunroof
during a slow sunday afternoon?
we would return from church
and eat hashbrowns
and i’d forget about the tanks turned to stone
it comes back all too fast
and the old homes are demanding a new companion
yes, the military wanderlust
catches under my wings
i love you but i have to go
guilty parties, raise your hands
old friend
it appears i'm on your doorstep again
what a shame, what a shame
may i come in? oh, you're too kind
maybe you’ve forgotten
the chandelier glitters like a lost dream
it's the same color as that night
give me a tour of your new home?
to our left,
we see a pen filled with wild creatures
the lions are gnawing on the locks and it's almost too late for us
you start walking faster away from me
to our right,
we see a room with two princes
or maybe they are dancers;
they're stuck in a loop of steps
the one nearest to you grabs each of our wrists
and the other looks onward, he beckons not with his hands but with his eyes
i have to choose between the animals and the princes
and you
and you're closer to the lions so
i hold on to the first prince
he is too beautiful, too terrible,
too much for you perhaps but not for me
you've moved to the top of the gate
between the animals and us
you could fall backward at any moment
backwards, forwards, i reach towards you
to grab the front of your shirt
but the motion creates a wave of air
it pushes you backwards
you land with a sickening crunch
right in the lion's lunch bowl
the prince is leading me away by my waist,
i never look at the chandelier again
Ryan E Moore is a poet and writer, as well as a student at the Davidson Academy in Reno, Nevada. When not writing, they enjoy skiing, creating art, and spending time with their dog, Libby.
no jokes during war
i am a lonely plane suspended over an unforgiving ocean
and i was once a soldier, too
so should i saddle this silver horse?
ride it into a sunset like those movies you like?
dig the dust out from under my nails and keep my little plastic idols?
this old military wanderlust
fills my aluminum body to capacity
because homes don’t excuse each other
a new house doesn’t replace an old one
instead, they stack up
and eight homes in eleven years clutters up fast
i hate looking in your eyes
knowing you gave up
on looking truthfully into mine
“did he, like, kill people?”
well, did you?
you’ve said you carried their bodies
but i think
instead of laying them at the edge of a battlefield
you slung them across my back
i’ll carry the weight for you as long
as you stop looking at me
with half-lidded eyes
i still want to travel far away, despite all i’ve built here
i know it’s just military wanderlust
because i feel at home
in those last few lazy sunbeams
cast across my own battlefield
did you ever fight like this?
eyes rolling and shots ringing long after the battle was over?
do the fireworks bother you?
would you be able to point out what sort of plane i am
like all those times you gestured through our sunroof
during a slow sunday afternoon?
we would return from church
and eat hashbrowns
and i’d forget about the tanks turned to stone
it comes back all too fast
and the old homes are demanding a new companion
yes, the military wanderlust
catches under my wings
i love you but i have to go
guilty parties, raise your hands
old friend
it appears i'm on your doorstep again
what a shame, what a shame
may i come in? oh, you're too kind
maybe you’ve forgotten
the chandelier glitters like a lost dream
it's the same color as that night
give me a tour of your new home?
to our left,
we see a pen filled with wild creatures
the lions are gnawing on the locks and it's almost too late for us
you start walking faster away from me
to our right,
we see a room with two princes
or maybe they are dancers;
they're stuck in a loop of steps
the one nearest to you grabs each of our wrists
and the other looks onward, he beckons not with his hands but with his eyes
i have to choose between the animals and the princes
and you
and you're closer to the lions so
i hold on to the first prince
he is too beautiful, too terrible,
too much for you perhaps but not for me
you've moved to the top of the gate
between the animals and us
you could fall backward at any moment
backwards, forwards, i reach towards you
to grab the front of your shirt
but the motion creates a wave of air
it pushes you backwards
you land with a sickening crunch
right in the lion's lunch bowl
the prince is leading me away by my waist,
i never look at the chandelier again
Ryan E Moore is a poet and writer, as well as a student at the Davidson Academy in Reno, Nevada. When not writing, they enjoy skiing, creating art, and spending time with their dog, Libby.