Lullaby for Las Vegas

The night sky is Hebe’s irises, silent as purple pansies

Downstairs, the sand is Geras’ teeth,

cradling fossils and other ancient curios

Leonard Siffleet is back in the oceanic hammock

And the ghost sailors are waddling towards him with arms wide open,

tide washing away scurvy and sword scraps,

Juliette drifts on a crystalline chandelier,

moonflowers and comb jellies woven into her hair.

The skyline of Las Vegas is snoring, a giant’s rumbling.

Ghosts had picked the psychedelic mushrooms clean.

Sated, they flock back to Aitape’s patient cottages. Overhead

Chang’er rides on a slowly eclipsing moon,

rabbit heads bowed in joyful prayer,

a devotional to the mermaids’ lullabies.

Willow is a writer from Singapore. After school, you can find her reading thick history textbooks, aimlessly writing poems, and solving frustrating math problems in a futile attempt to conquer boredom. Just make sure that her coffee bowl stays full.

You can find her on Instagram @oldmanheart