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“There is another world, but it is in this one”

                                                            -William Butler Yeats


there is another world inside, hidden—
bubbling underneath this one

one that if the earth quakes enough and it’s plates crack and buckle,
will spill out onto this world

and run rivers of hot,
liquid gold down the streets

hum sweetly like mothers
or grandmothers do

will feel the way water
tastes at 3am

and taste the way I imagine
clouds feel on the tongue

there is another world inside, hidden—
inside of me and inside of you

mine is not sweet and does not
hum like gold  

mine is waiting to be cracked open
by a lot of things I am afraid of—

             i did not have my seatbelt on and I reached for it as the cop came around to the

 driver’s seat window, where my father was sitting.
and my dad—who does not yell—yelled at me.
and I saw liquid gold dripping from his eyes,
pouring onto the steering wheel. He asked me to pass him a napkin

—and sometimes when we’re riding in the car together listening to

John Mayer, like he loves to do sometimes, I hear the siren over the strum of the guitar

and I look to my father,
see him wiping gold tears from his eyes, smiling at me

I see it dripping from my mother’s ears, leaking from my brother’s fingernails, oozing from my best friend’s mouth


no matter how hard we grasp at it,  how many napkins we use, how high the dam is—it floods and drips and leaks and oozes








Mckenzie Baker

Wake Forest '21

Mckenzie Baker is a 20 year old with roots in Memphis, TN and Atlanta, Ga. She enjoys writing about identity and time. She is currently a third year at Wake Forest University and her favorite smell is freshly cut grass.
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