Sophia Zhang

Cocoon

I want to be the deep purple sky of winter evenings, gray clouds covering
everything. I want to be the bell-like blossoms of strawberry trees. I want to be soft rain. I want

to be a recycled book—coffee-stained and creased. To be the garlic juice clinging
to your oak cutting board. The way it is inexhaustible, unapologetically flavouring

any newly chopped apples. I want to be honest:
I hate to cling. I mean, I want you to hold me. Squeeze me suffocatingly.

I read survival doesn’t have to be an act of loneliness. I read solitude is something to choose.
I want both to be true, to be like rain, cleansing the tiredness off our

face. I find that I’m afraid to say anything or nothing. I tie my shoes and am suddenly standing
alone. I want to believe

in so many things. A God that watches over me. Your pulse, stable in your sleep. A tongue,
cleaved with trying. We can start like this: tonight, with strawberry seeds.

How to continue: tomorrow, your tongue knotted to mine. In the future, I promise I will pray, say
grace. I will be the white noise that cushions your dreams. I will be the silver light of

morning sky. I will be the purple, the soft, the creased. The garlic, clinging.

Sophia Zhang is a young writer from the California Bay Area. Her work has been recognized by the Scholastic Arts and Writing Awards, YoungArts, Columbia Young Authors, and Women on Writing among others, and can be found in the Blue Marble Review and Viewless Wings Magazine. Sophia also serves as an editor for WritetoRight and a community partner for Reed Magazine. When not writing, Sophia is likely binging Chinese webnovels or reality TV.