Daylyn Carrigan

Daylyn Carrigan is a junior from Puyallup, WA, studying English Writing and Communications. She is a poet, photographer, and songwriter, who finds that inspiration strikes most often at three a.m. so she keeps a pen and journal by her bedside, hoping to catch the words before they slip away.

Midnight Expedition

Nights are
spent on my
left side, watching
my plump
figure as it sinks into
a toppled hourglass,
where the sands lie
still and I have
all the time in the world
to be. Or, to ponder
the beating
of my chest, rising
and falling like the supple
back of a dolphin as
it slips above and below
the meniscus
of an ocean.
Or, to read my
striae like a map,
finding north, then
reading the contours,
thumbing the proof of my
elasticity. Excursions,
success found only where
new marks and dimples
are not. Patches of
smooth sailing, where I
float until I find myself
asleep.

Cochlea

The seashell inside my ear is
balding. The bristles fall out in
waves, polluting the fluid of the
canal.
 
But the shell is not broken, it came
this way, being flushed out day to day
with sound until I wake to find none
left.
 
I do not always mind the thought of
this. I have heard more than I should.
But I know that I will miss his groggy
Good morning,
 
when his voice is deeper, too deep
to find its way through the canal and
into the last thinning hairs of my tiny
seashell.