Two Lotuses

Beth Davis

Today I saw two lotuses that reminded me of us. I smiled, unmaimed. I felt the pieces of me that abided by yours wear away, I felt them drift around the mark of 627 days. You and I were a cell that split, and now we are doing what is necessary. We planted newer seeds in our souls that neither will ever see, or come to know. I grew violets in my chest, what flower did you grow?  We will remain in ignorant comfort – no longer fearing for one another. We will never have to eat each other’s cooking again. You’ll never see how I make them cry and I’ll never know if you ever got to make them laugh. But in auroras of fondness I find this tender feeling. I see this separation in a formidable light. Today I saw two lotuses and thought of us; how we can now walk the earth as different souls but remember the time that we were both so stainless. Hatred holds no compass when time directs us.   


I fall into a great sense of comfort knowing that if we ever meet again; we’ll be strangers this time.  


– A fond notion 

Author: Elizabeth Davis is a queer Scottish poet located in Meanjin. After studying journalism at QUT, the woes and triumphs of humanity are something she delves into both professionally and artistically. With a focus on body-positivity and the beauty of nature, her poetry can be found on @e.cdaviswrites.

Artist: Irene Liao is a visual art student from Taiwan who aims to present figurative human art through her watercolour pieces.

Editors: Bea Warren and Euri Glenn