In The Snow - Prismacolor Pencil And Whiteout On Paper

Sunset Over Atlantic

The tan line on my ring finger has faded,

just another reminder of the time we’ve lost

since that day at the beach when my ring

washed away with the tide. We couldn’t afford

to replace it. Maybe I should have taken that as

a sign.

Spring

Cut through the pallid skin of the fresh corpse of winter. Bleed beginnings.

The close of winter is a silent night, still darkness giving in to a vibrant day.

Dying frost. Awakening Blooms. Welcome to a new world.

Sweet, the scent of birdsong and blue.

In the movies, this is where the newborn enters the scene.

The dawn light breaks on pale pink, the bright call

of miles to go before I sleep.

I swear it’s too hot for this time of year.

Venus, why bring love in Spring if it dies in winter?

Dying minus the end equals resurrection.

The Tortoise Loves the Hare

Friend, Don’t tell me how to run my race.

Just because you can’t reach

the finish line doesn’t mean

I have to stall in second place,

slinking in your shadow

since you “know what’s best

for me.”

I stand on my own feet,

I run to who I choose.

I will dance, I will fly, even

if I pass you by. Keep up

or I’ll leave you in the dust.

Repentance (Part Three of To Save A Wretch Like Me)

The third and final part of the collection, To Save A Wretch Like Me, contains the resolution for the lovers as they reach their rock bottom and are left to pick themselves up and find their way back to themselves on their own. 

Forward, The Only Way to Go

Rusty white with a big blue stripe,

the old pickup, a pick-me-up

in the shape of a flatbed truck.

He drives fast with the music blasting,

windows cranked down because the AC never works,

or maybe just to share his music with the world.

His voice pours out the window to the beat of a drum

as the pounding music rocks and swells

and brings the old radio back to life.

It’s an adrenaline rush, that old white truck,

and the driver inside. Four wheels, one heart,

flying on a song down the old dirt road.

With the blood of a cousin, the heart

of a friend, a protector, a brother, a guardian.

Wings hidden beneath thick skin, or rusty white paint.

The heart of freedom, a crazy heart.

A heart with no direction, a truck with no map.

Windows open, open heart.

Passerby

You know, I really love it when you pretend

that I don’t exist.

You climbed out of your car,

alone in the grocery store parking lot.

We made eye contact,

I almost dropped my bag of eggs.

You locked the car and zipped up your jacket

and jogged to the door, out of the cold

as if I never even existed.

Not even a smile?

The least you could do is acknowledge me.

My stomach clenches as

I shove food into my trunk.

My appetite is gone.

Equations in Momentum

If one train is moving south

at sixty miles per hour and

another train is moving north

at the speed of still,

will they notice the wind

rushing between them as they pass,

or are their worlds too far apart

to make a difference?

To Save a Wretch Like Me

Palms sweat thick as blood. I fold them so as not

to stain my skirt, too clean, too white. The wine of redemption

burns my throat, bitter next to the sweet sin so heavy on my

unholy mind. The call to confess crushes the

soul. There are no secrets left. I can’t look up, can’t

burn my eyes with the sight of his neck, red with the embarrassment

of awareness beneath a shock of blond. He sits two rows ahead,

his head bowed in humility, and I sink to the depths of the

earth, opening to swallow me beneath the altar before me,

drowning me in the tears of the women at the cross.

Confess?

New Years Eve - Rachel Schneider

Medium:

Prismacolor Pencils and Sharpie on Paper