Charlotte Mills
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“the bay,” helen frankenthaler
paint no longer mixes into itself like oil and water, it separates blue stark against tan against green against brown water stark against sand against grass against dirt or i’m wrong and the colors are whatever you think they are you never took my word for it. we stand in front of the painting pretend we haven’t seen each other in years pretend Helen Frankenthaler isn’t dead pretend we still fade into each other before, i couldn’t tell where you started and i ended. the blue stands out from the rest of the it stain painting lifting the sea out of the bay it always fades into itself but doesn’t deign to touch the others we pretend we don’t scrape against each other my grass against your sand pretend we haven’t seen each other in years it’s easier than knowing we have and knowing we’re still this unalike despite it. you make the best of it think Helen Frankenthaler would be proud of our contrast i always thought you pretended too much. |
Charlotte Mills (she/they) is a poetry and non-fiction writer from North Carolina. She has always loved reading but discovered her love for writing during the COVID-19 pandemic. She pursued creative writing at Interlochen Arts Camp in 2021, 2022, 2023, and 2024. Her awards include the 2023 and 2024 Youngclaus Writing Award and she has been featured in literary journals such as The Blackbird’s Eye.