by Nicole Dipre
Molly, my sun, you know I’d believe you if you said the world was yours. Glistening sweat indistinguishable from dew drops on raised arm hairs, you lay dazed in a Chelsea playground. Coming down, shivering, arching your spine. Starburst Soaking, staring into curving laced skies in oak trees. Stars or street lights coming down on clumped lashes, sprinkled glitter, cheekbones of cheap rhinestones. I believe you. Soothe your burning in a kiss. It’s like this, the breeze to squeeze, grit your teeth, cool the heat sweet in clenched thighs. Honeymoon, the Earth and her bride. Warm and dry tongue of cotton, gin white skirt translucent on cold wet skin, neon Drinking snow angel in the summer rain, giggling, a sigh, drunk on life. I witness and whisper that you pretend to be embarrassed. Or not. Don’t hide. Not yet. I believe you because you cry with your heart open, because your heart is not bulletproof. It’s contagious and I can’t look away. Nearly blinding, irresistible fire, I can’t look away.
About the Contributor & Piece
Nicole Dipre (any pronouns) is a sophomore Visual Arts major with a concentration in Drawing and Painting and a minor in Creative Writing.
Molly in the Pinwheel Park by Herself was initially inspired by her wonder about a discarded and lonely yet vibrant vodka bottle laid face up in Pinwheel Park, located in the Chelsea neighborhood of Manhattan. She was intrigued by its story, who drank it, and who left it in the chilly summer rain. Nicole turned this object into a person, a party girl who took on the city and now resting with the world in dewy grass. With love, she graced Molly with an unapologetic, enchanting, shimmering character that she admires finding in her friends, strangers, and herself.