‘Foreigners’, ‘Sunshower’ & ‘Cosmic Confetti’

Ella Wang picked up a camera two years ago and has fallen in love with photography since, no matter the genre: street, portrait, architecture, underwater, concert, and more. Still being a highschooler, she has learned to balance her academics with photography. During class, you might catch her debating how much grain to add to an image for that perfect amount of "vintage".

Foreigners

I want to ask you about your time 

in a foreign country 

that you have been to before

that I have been to

that I will be in

only a few weeks after you

like a shooting star chasing

another or a conqueror arriving

at ruins already haunted by a fallen empire.

I’m the archaeologist left

to pick up the pieces, one dead 

pixel at a time of your pilgrimage 

but when we follow the footsteps

of saints all we realize is how stained

our soles are. 

They catch me at the airport

with a suitcase filled with souvenirs 

they ask me what I plan to do with

them and it feels like a crime 

to me too

to have all of this 

luggage. 

Sunshower

The rain bows into a mountainous slant
against the wind’s wrath, a tempest tears

the clouds, severed by the gold scissors
of thunder, lighting the living room.

Mother Nature takes her iridescent throne,
the rainbow bending the sky to her mulberry
sweet mouth and her honeyed sceptre. 

Cosmic Confetti

Dear you, 

you who knows,

that you will always be all of the yous,

It was always reality to you 

and imagination to me. 

The golden thread of fate was cut 

by the Moirai a little too soon. But 

the wormhole would never have 

existed without the severance. 

The grief would never have existed

without the severance. The poem 

would never have existed 

without the grief. 

I am sorry that this is the way you 

find out. Or you never find

out if you never read this. 

That it is tucked away in a little pocket

of the universe where I’m not a coward. 

I never knew what to do with good things.

So now I only have the silence of your white 

space. 

There’s a room in the Milky Way 

where you’re throwing me a party

and we celebrate, just the two of us, 

like it was supposed to be. 

Just like there was supposed to be no 

end 

to our poem.

Fiona Hartmann is a writer living in Toronto, Canada. She is interested in creating thought-provoking fiction that creates emotional connections that transcend through the digital landscape of modernity. Find her published and forthcoming work in Kelp Journal, Shot Glass Journal, Neologism Poetry Journal and elsewhere.