“ornaments for great-granddaughters”

✦ lucia ✦ digital diary ✦ 22 ✦ livin in the south ✦

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Written on the Body by Jeanette Winterson // Gone Girl by Gillian Flynn // Musica Humana by Ilya Kaminsky // Basic August by Eileen Myles // Imitations of Drowning by Anne Sexton // Will You Please Be Quiet, Please? by Raymond Carver // The Sound and the Fury by William Faulkner // Atmospheric Embroidery by Meena Alexander // The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath by Sylvia Plath // The Women by Kim Addonizio // 

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The Quiet Machine Ada Limón

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don’t care + i’m at the grand palais seeing the hilma af klint exhibit

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‘Move Me In’ — THE WORDS FAIRE

Lucia Restrepo Bralley is an undergraduate student studying Creative Writing at Louisiana State University. She lives in Baton Rouge with he

wowie zowie, i have a new poem on the words faire, i’m the luckiest girl in the world! it’s about my mom and it’s her birthday this week so legally you have to read it

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something i wrote earlier and haven't really edited #whatever #itsmylife

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A Guide to Becoming God - Runestone Journal

"A Guide to Becoming God" ​by Lucia Restrepo Bralley, new creative nonfiction in Runestone Literary Journal v. 12

my cnf essay about playing The Sims 4 got published, thanks runestone!

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Leila Chatti, from "Postcard"

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Hanif Abdurraqib, "Glamor on the West Streets / Silver Over Everything"

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land of honey/below the mason-dixon/another love song for the south

my beloved yankee,

how can you hate the south?

after trying wild honeysuckle and breathing in maturing magnolias? warm spring days, rolling thunderstorms at night, sidewalks still wet the next morning. 

we have ladies with big hair, bigger weddings, inviting half the town to watch them say i love you, i do, i'll always love you. 

neighbors’ hushed gossiping, like friction between dried leaves, small talk in line at the grocery store, asking if they like that brand of bug spray.

a cacophony of cicadas at night, whippoorwills and chick-a-dee-dee-dees, lullabies of violently croaking bullfrogs.

i like faded churches on single lane roads, alight with kerosene love.

i like red crosses and soup kitchens, storm shelters and booster drives, i forgot to thank her for the casserole when my aunt died.

i like peach cobbler, chess pie, country fried steak, loads of butter and eggs and flour and sugar, 

tea so sweet your mouth puckers, salty boiled peanuts sold from the side of the road, only $1.50 and you get free directions to the waterfall.

i even like the people who hunt, i do. especially the ones who use all of the animal, who thank the deer for passing quickly and for gifting them a glorious feast, the ones who give antlers to their dogs.

i like old women with hair so white it's blue, a smoker's rasp, metallic lipstick and starched blouses, patent leather shoes and big red pocketbooks. 

i like driving through marshes and fields, cow pastures and blue ridges, creeks falling to forests growing to gardens.

i like square dancing, and slow dancing even more, and lit-up raves tucked in the corners of empty downtowns filled with everyone that looks like you. 

i like bluegrass and blues, drumlines before football games, jazz in the french quarter, zydeco in acadiana, yes even country, i like my nana singing patsy cline on the porch. 

i like slow guitar and crooning melodies of heartbreak and first love, of missing mom and hating dad. 

i like faded red trucks, low to the ground with unimpressive engines, i like train tracks braided with weeds. 

i like mardi gras, flashing beads in smoky air, feathered up floats, stereos turned loud. 

i like the hundreds of torn-up peachtree streets and dozens of martin luther king jr. boulevards. 

i like drag queens in sunday best, the same florals my grandmother likes, i like straw hats and creased-up boots, i like paper fans exchanged from hand to hand. 

i like hearing y’all stay safe now, how everyone is honey and baby and sweetheart, even if you've never met. 

i’d like for you to come sit with me in the damp backyard when lightning bugs descend. look at the blue ridge mountains cutting up misty misery. see god in the face of something old and ordinary, see home in the face of everyone here.

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re-edited this older poem, i'm starting to really like the revision process! go figure

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semi-finished draft of my first little piece of found poetry, taken from kant’s Observations on the Feeling of the Beautiful and Sublime, fuck that racist asshole though

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forced my way into doing found poetry again for a class, this time about chaucer's troilus and criseyde. sorry abt the messy formatting you can kill me if u want. also i skipped the first poem in the series and the one abt pandarus bc who gafs lowkey

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new prose - two

another very messy thing i'm editing, all about a very productive day! god i love errands

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new prose - one

in case you want to read something kinda weird, here's some nonsense from the sexless generation (me)! i'm avoiding my romanticism final, god save me, and fuck you william wordsworth

i don't usually write prose, i always end up turning it into an essay, but i'm trying, this definitely needs editing as well

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hello beautiful world out there, here’s a draft of something probably about sex, i’ve had a crazy week!

my personal essay from last sem and a newer poem i wrote are getting published, i feel so lucky!

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Erika L. Sánchez, from "Departure"

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ok this one too

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hello vast world i hope you’re doing well, i’ve been doing a lot of writing! here’s a wip <3

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Joy Sullivan, “My Mother Asks How I'm Doing with Just Whisky and Cats”, Instructions for Traveling West