Posts
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House Fire Down by Snow Alley
they buy the marrow of weakness
on the corner of featherless angels.
then resurface their stashed rigs
within the chest of their chapel.
they blaze spooned tar and pour
liquid heaven into icy blue rivers. -
Our Last Chance
War is all that we have seen;
mothers turning into human shields,
fathers’ pride sharp as the bullets cast,
children—younger than me—crying goodbyes.
Why should we know of peace?
Misery is all that we have known; -
Love, As It May Be
I crave to press spring
memories in the pages
of softest moleskin.
Journals with petals
spurring out from the buds of
newly birthed flowers.
Delicate as young -
;
i began writing my will and goodbyes at 13;
after every night i waited for my death bed
to hold me in an unconscious embrace and
to cradle me until i returned to our Mother,
i anticipated my rebirth to commence at 14; -
Come, Alive
In the early morning I wake with Sun,
And she smiles at me with yellow teeth,
And I think Imperfection is beautiful.
In the last moments of the day Bird flies,
And I hear them chirp to the heavens, -
Hiking Upward (Heaven has no Golden Stairs)
So, you’ve traveled mighty far;
Beneath the damp underpasses,
Guided by rivers and the North Star,
Trenched through forest masses.
I hope it is what you anticipated.
The journey is not for the weak
Loves
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"Alice, What is Special?"
This was inspired by Alice Duer Miller's "Are Women People"
“Alice, what is special?”
“Specialty is difference.”
“The difference of what?”
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Emily Dickinson and the Church
Written by Caroline, 12, Hanover, NH, submitted by Steven Glazer, Crossroads Academy
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A Letter I Can't Send
oh darling, you'll never understand why i did what i did. I don't think i ever will either. i held on as long as i could. i would've held on longer, if i could stand lying to you.
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And So I Refrain
she talks to me about the paper snowflakes she plans to make this weekend, and so i refrain from telling her that my bedroom has been decorated since the day after thanksgiving.
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she who is quiet amidst the noise
here in the forest, there is a-waiting
a little bird, quiet and sweet
she does not quite understand
how they could have born herthese foreign beasts
