Grenadine Grenades

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By Lilly Sayenga

You throw me in a cavalcade 

Geraldine is my grandmother’s name 

The world around me looks all the same 

And I let it wash and flow into a pinkish reddish strain 

Nothing matters to me the way that 

Everything always gets in the way 

Of sparkling rose love 

And oily keyboards 

I can’t explain why none of it makes any sense at all 

It never does 

I throw myself into it and I hate it always 

You push and care for me but I am myself and I’m stuck here 

I hate that there isn’t much I can do about that ultimately 

And the Shirley temples of the world always shine and shine 

Their cherries so red 

And myself perpetually dead 

Married to the idea that I will be eternally an old maid 

A notion I conceived when I was thirteen 

When I suppose I realized 

No one wants me 

I take that and run and Shirley temples and I are a pair 

I sip in the sweetness but still I am scared 

Of the wideness of the world and the smallness of me 

The fact that nothing can mean anything 

Unless I decide it it seems 

So I sparkle and watch the dancing light reflect upon the glass 

Whose condensation feels the need to bleed into my hands

And I suppose that it’s violent 

These images that chance 

Upon my eyes and my feelings that feel the need to pass 

Into words that leak worse than the melting ice 

Nothing ever matters unless I tell it to which is nice 

But I guess I am lonely 

And I feel weak and young 

And I guess I just sit here and rot til I’m done 

So it’s a violent sweetness 

A grenade of syrup on my tongue 

It explodes 

I implode 

And still I think of you 

Ordering after me 

After you tease 

As my parents watch and I feel immature and silly 

A performer in this life 

And always 

And bereft 

I’m just a nobody no Shirley 

yet I bring you this text 

Spilling out the sparkling cherry that bleeds 

I hate that nothing is ever how it seems 

It hurts to drink something so sweet 

It hurts to know that these thoughts won’t retreat 

I deceive myself 

I see the conceit 

The redness of love and the blackness of bleak

How unkindly they mix 

How lovely the maraschino skewered 


I guess I can’t love you 

I guess I can’t wait 

I guess I’ll allow myself this temple as a failsafe 

And your reflection bounces on the glass 

And so does mine 

The ice melts with my silence 

Better than glass being broken 

Better than violence 

Better than what I imagine to be right 

I’d rather sink to the bottom 

An orb of vivid sweetness battered down 

I guess it’s fine 

The sweetness hurts me all the time

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