Singers
The boy waits, late as ever.
Hears distant chorus, warm,
unknowable behind frosted glass.
Shapes sway through the door, a suggestion.
The boy waits, late as ever.
Hears distant chorus, warm,
unknowable behind frosted glass.
Shapes sway through the door, a suggestion.
When the last rain falls
and weary plains crack under
the sun we forsook,
we'll laugh in our perfect grief,
entwined and wilting as one.
A postcolonial reading of Yeats' "The Realists".
HOPE that you may understand!
What can books of men that wive
In a dragon-guarded land,
Paintings of the dolphin-drawn
Sea-nymphs in their pearly wagons
Do, but awake a hope to live
That had gone
With the dragons?— W. B. Yeats, Responsibilities (1914)

I own like six nail clippers
and I honestly can’t
find
even one
The Laughter Lines poetry competition was run by Penstricken, a literary magazine. My poem "Sunset" was one of the top three runners up.
To hold hands
is to be in chains.
I made you in my image
so you could have everything I’m proud of.
You wave
at everyone.
usually goodbye,
sometimes hello.
If I had slept ten minutes, I had slept a lifetime.