Martian New Years
She was a forgotten present sitting under the tree, wrapped in velvet and ribbons with a card tucked in her pocket,
wide eyes chasing fireflies as they massed to bask in the glow of her iPhone as she
absently checked the dock again for a red icon to signal her home.
He had seized her heart like he would the means of production,
but left her waiting at the back of the line for his affections again.
A creeping migraine like a Martian sandstorm whispers promises of aneurysms, hinting at
chunks of data lost during a bad defrag, but she could never be sure.
Certainly alzheimers will be a schizofrenic dream, but knowing it is coming
She reminds herself not to curse him out loud, or pick her nose too liberally, lest she forget herself.
Enveloped by darkness, fireflies seem to descend from the sky like a Dubai highrise
But all she can think of is George and the fragility of democracy. Many dank memes kaleidoscope her cortex.
What would the otherkin say if they knew she was harboring cis longings for a proletariat Picasso?
She pulled a frustfressen praline from her pocket, every tastebud surrendering to the inevitable kummerspeck.
Soon her coat was empty except one rigid card, and as she fingered the seal, it sang out
Saluting as some glorious anthem called every flower, root and blade of grass to attention and
She thought she could feel it ripple out through the undergrowth, carried like an EMP on a mycelium internet.
Finally, the world would understand! There is nothing that cannot be undone,
No flatlander that can’t be made to glimpse the fourth dimension.
If she should be the bering strait to a new earth, she would lay down like a gentleman’s jacket.
Her phone came to life, buzzing and beeping like the city at night.
The bluish glow gave way with a swipe to reveal a red icon like a lighthouse beam.
She was already moving from under the tree when she saw his brights swerve over the horizon like Phobos and Deimos,
and the fireflies scattered like pixies on St. Patrick’s Day. The few remaining turned into butterflies and settled in the pit of her stomach.
Sliding in beside him, she pulled the card from her pocket.
Chelsea Belle Goodell is a web developer and graphic designer currently studying Video Game Development at Yavapai College (Student of the Year 2016). She is working to create advanced educational materials for children like her own on the autism spectrum. By merging poetry, art and technology, Chelsea hopes to engage developing minds and instill a lifelong love of poetry in the next generation.