The Visionist

Chloe N. Clark

The Visionist

She reads the temperature
of storms in the dance
of pine needles and the way
light falls through
windows—is it plummeting?
Leaping? Accidentally tumbling?

When she finds thumbprints
on pieces of glass,
she counts the whorls, knows
the lives these ridges
lived upon

Once she tried to help,
explained the dreams—
the girl placing leaves
into cuts on her skin,
moss forming tattoos
up her body, such unruly
ink—but her message,
her translation of the girl,
came out like riddles,
untranslatable things
lost in the space between
her tongue and ears
of those listening

She never reads the news,
too afraid of the loss
she’d find in the shadowing
of words, that doubling
astigmatism the optometrist
tries to correct with glasses

But she tries to explain:
It’s not my eyes,
it’s what I see


Chloe N. Clark’s work has appeared in Booth, Bombay Gin, Wyvern Lit, a previous issue of Abyss & Apex, and more. For her scintillating thoughts on doughnuts, Supernatural, and bats, follow her @PintsNCupcakes

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