issue 5

october 2017

issue 5 - october 2017

my mint plant is not a metaphor for my mental health - Brittany Rose

but i am proud of how it stretches toward the nearly-spring sunlight; adolescent leaves, broad and blooming.

over summer it suffered, shriveled, straggled, browned dry by the spotlight sun, the fishbowl house a magnifying glass, harsh uv blaring down against the mojito-sweet little sprig.

the sun rose and

set and rose

and set again. some days apricot, peach, lilac, cornflower blue skies; on others, burnt persimmon, violet and baby blue, sometimes smeared with oil paint blots of mist. the stripped branches are witch fingers cackling into the fuchsia sky, silhouettes harsh against the setting sun and the ticking clock. the dog next door yaps all day, a beat for her continuous bassline of shallow breathing, punctuated by a sigh or a whimper of lungs punctured, wounded by a fleeting glance. flocks of birds flee as a neighbourhood car revs and squeals. she jumps when doors slam.

my mint plant probably is a metaphor for my mental health
or maybe not
at the very least 
it sits in a purple pot, bright contrast against the damp black dirt, and tidy green leaves,
and smells nice when i remember to water it.

Contributor's Note

As an avid childhood reader, with a librarian for a grandmother, Britttany Rose loves words and stories. Between marking essays on YA fiction, and hosting Writer's Club in her classroom (since she's now an English teacher), Brittany sometimes reviews stuff for Nexus because she secretly misses being the 2016 Editor. Published in Poetry New Zealand 2015 and Mayhem Anthology, Brittany will not cease in submitting to Mayhem Literary Journal and yearning for days spent drinking coffee on campus.


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