Comfort.

Close my eyes like the house in the South I could see from the mountains, collapsed in on itself, pieces of green tile still atop rubble, precarious no more, wood half-decomposed back into forest floor. Lay my body down, dig a deep red grave on a red clay lane, the one I always meant to […]

Scrap 003: Bad dream.

The light is the kind that almost hurts your eyes on overcast days, when the clouds are lit from behind and the sky is grey. I smile at the rain, though it pulls at the place behind my center where my lungs feel joined to my bones. There is a sort of reverse seasonal-affective disorder […]

Monday in Meter.

My breakfast consists of hot tea and milk. My dress is blue, my exposed limbs are cold. This story feels like a bruise and his ilk, So pressed and pushed by constant reminders. Although it’s safer to be without them, Somehow I still yearn for your smiles and words. I suppose this rift of ours […]

Answers.

Take my importance away until I articulate whatever the world wants to say, and may I choose only those who want me in their dreams to be in mine. I will meet every eye, coax every sigh into being, usher them down the line, leave them at the sea, to meet the waves and wind, introduce them to […]

Nostalgia.

Imagine the day before November begins: overcast sky, pure and constant as your breath, droplets of chill sharply brushing face and chest as you walk to a car, wintry air slicing your hand even as your key slices into the parched metal of the door, turning audibly. You get inside, crank the window down quickly, […]

Francesca.

Francesca, are we still the same age? Do you remember the way dust tastes after it’s settled on your papery tongue, clung to your limbs from a powdered floor, forever imprinted with your shadow? I struggle with whether you’d like me, and decide it doesn’t matter since already you’ve moved me. Who was it that […]

Scrap 002: Bella Luna.

Luna, dear Luna, bringing to mind the madness of the gods, the lunacy of the tides and the people they affect – and the effect on their defects is imperfect, pulling on the rest of us as well and tempting us to give in momentarily. Are we really as unsound as the phases of that […]