cranberry strings
laced into bedsheets:
mother has only
just learned to sew,
and father breathes
slowly from a snowing
world.
sleep is different.
i lay with a solstice
tongue pressed to
the roof of my waiting
mouth
and
wonder
who else
has been resting in
place.
YOU ARE READING
soft light
Poetryi just want to feel okay again. poems written circa 2017-2020. what a wacky time to exist. if a lot of these seem unhinged it's probably because most of them were written while i was in a very abusive relationship. tw for occasional themes of addict...
