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wraiths Aug 2020
little grey mouse
with black beady eyes,
you stare up at me,
body still and silent.
little heart probably pounding;
stuck to glue not meant for you.
i pick you up with rubber gloves
and toss you into the yard.
if only it was cold out
and you were buried by the snow.
your nose would turn blue
and you’d freeze to death quickly,
but instead it’s a warm summer night
and the hum of cicada wings affirms your fate.
i hope an animal finds you soon,
little mouse.
wraiths Aug 2020
rain is slick on
window shields and railings

and lightning like twisted fingers
reaches for the beach

i whisper a prayer
for a lone ship out in the dark

but god is silent -
his footsteps make no sound
wraiths Aug 2020
i am encircled
by pines

i look up
and their silhouettes surround
my head like a crown;
like a throne they protect me,
swaddle me,
in this kingdom of mine

i can see the stars out here

the woods would be silent
if not for the murmuring of friends
and the babbling of a hot tub
hot steam lifts off our shoulders
and dissipates into the november night air

i can see the stars out here

a starry sea in the black deep
we look for the bear and the hunter
but their perpetual chase escapes us
our eyes flicker over so many stories
that we were never told
and will probably never know
wraiths May 2020
i am a teddy bear stuffed      full
of incompetent
                         cotton
my body lays limp and lifeless

—why can't i do anything right?

i am a honeybee
while all the others flit home from flowers
i      hover          in the air
gossamer wings fluttering
               as i wonder
which direction
                              i came from

—some days i think i wasn’t meant for this world

i am the robin’s egg that fell from the nest
i am the sheep that grew no wool
i am the fish that drowned
wraiths May 2020
I remember drinking cranberry juice from a glass cup.
You’d taken the jug from the fridge without even asking me -- you already knew.

I remember smiling with cheeks full of Polish pierogies,
swinging scrawny legs from the kitchen barstool.

I remember passing around a bottle of sparkling grape juice on New Years,
taking swigs not because I liked it, but because it was our tradition.

I remember sipping English Breakfast tea from porcelain teacups,
and salmon, and balsamic vinaigrette dressing, and cheese fondue.

I remember our voices as we laid in bed with the lights off,
speaking our fantasies as whispers to the shadowed ceiling.
wraiths Mar 2020
Let me be your rosy-cheeked
baby, a cherub under cotton sheets.

Run your fingers through my hair
like a honey-sweet breeze

through tall grass, and envelop me
in your arms, your favorite flower,

as the rain outside sings of our love
and tings against the old gutters.
wraiths Mar 2020
There's a band playing. They're not very good but
very loud and I can't understand what the singer is
saying. No one in the crowd knows the words.
The amps crackle and the singer growls and I feel
the vibrations churn in my stomach.

There's a fireplace in the room.

People bob around me like buoys, dance and push
and crash into each other like waves. I try to hold
my ground and plant my feet but their bodies lean
into mine anyway. I'm pressed between a door
and a staircase and I can't help but think that if I
fell I might get trampled and smashed into the
ground with my bones sticking out at the wrong
angles.

There's a fireplace in the room. It's made of red
brick and stacked almost to the ceiling.

I'm holding a can of beer and I learned that I
really don't like the taste of beer but it fits against
the otherwise empty palm of my hand so I hold it
and drink it anyway. Someone spills their beer in
my hair and I learn that I really don't like beer but
especially not in my hair.

There's a fireplace in the room. It's made of red
brick. I imagine what it'd look like lit, with a
family circled around it in the wintertime.
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