Bare Blue Juniper Knees By Alayne Ballantine

A syrupy sap that falls as your last attempt to break your knees and branch out

Buds of warm teeth sprout and stick to your cracked lips

Stuck in the sugar; sap gathers and melts-

Over the crest of flesh. 

Water flows and streams under eyelids creased. 

Under harsh vowel sounds jammed in whispers. 

Under the truth of the soil. 

Dawn breaks and syllables glitter in the light, filling in the cracks of your skin. 

Quiver and push the clouds away to warm your bare blue juniper knees. 

Long wavering tendons and nails crystallized- catalysts to broken bones in wrists. 

Clutching, panting hollow breaths beneath the solid chest. 

Exhuming the amber locked away in the steel you bear to breathe. 

Force your fingers through the barren dirt dawn and impart the sticky heart; the sun rises. 

So you may sleep eternally. 


Alayne Ballantine is a poet and visual artist from Albuquerque, New Mexico. She writes for different zines and local publications in Albuquerque. She works with words as an outlet to express the things she has a hard time saying out loud. When she isn’t writing she’s fixing, and playing pinball machines and watching Spice World. 

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res·ur·rec·tion

/ˌrezəˈrekSH(ə)n/

the action or fact of resurrecting or being resurrected

raising from the dead

restoration to life

rising from the dead

return from the dead