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Time Lapses & Entanglements of a Forgotten Past 

There are old spiderwebs

              In the corner of this room

from a spider that feigned interest

in our amaranth colored lives

cherry-picking tangible lapses of a 

slow-moving picture 


Old spiderwebs no longer hold a bridge to 

               A meal

Old spiderwebs dangle in a

hazy delicate grey

to never hold anything ever


The Sound and Silence of Death

I hiked up and over the bridge towards Chatham Road to 

catch the 57, it goes by St. Margaret Mary’s Church


The twinge in my neck followed me from

my many pillows that failed to sustain my neck after


The night of the ear-piercing cries that filled the room

Death could not come quick enough for the bird


We are on Lake Ave waiting for the light to change

The hiss and whoosh of the bus evacuating passengers never failed to suspend in the air


Did anyone else hear it’s beseeched remarks for rescue?

As we laid there in tenterhooks 


Ill at ease and sweaty I squeezed my eyes shut

Trying to unlearn the sound and silence of death


Among apartment buildings so close together that the walls are a

Performance act for privacy


I vacated the window seat to find

Solitude among the stale smell of books


As I thought of the rest of the birds and how they

weren’t chirping anymore


They were not blessing the blue skies and soft clouds with music 

Instead, we were greeted with silence 

Like a vigilance to their fallen one. 


So I ask myself, 

What will we find between the unkempt lawns that separate us?

Will we find the empathy we store and only 

Exclusively use?


Blackberry Honey

The sounds of winds crashing against my window, trying

To get in, not a fan


Manifesting into my dreams as I pray for 

a sense of direction, slipping

Down under


Gears rusted, wasted bones atone

To the years lived and conquered. Away 

And powerless to it, it took me to

Darkness, pitch-black save for 

Three misshapen stars

Ready to grasp


If direction came, I missed it

If comfort came, it drowned. Until 

Eyes wide open I emerged 


The cheek I kissed and did not want to dare miss this next day, 

                Smelled of pastries and cigarettes and I 

Wished he didn’t smoke at all

He handed me a plate covered

                 By another plate and on top of that plate it said

His name, recklessly written


He waited 15 minutes for me and I believe he would have waited

Fifteen more only to sit with me for ten.

I wanted nothing more but to leave with him. To hold his free hand that

Wasn’t holding a roll of black paper. Instead, he gave me

Something else to carry. A makeshift box made of plates. Full.

Full of pastries you smelled like. Kept together by

Black tape. He likes to tell me everything about everything just how I 

               Like to write everything about everything.

He likes to kiss the part of my face I hate the most. 

My nose.


Last night I dreamt that

His blackberry honey voice whirred through the orange sky

                Sweet and harmonious it flew

To soothe the aching soul 

Like the benevolent Sonoran wind it came

To blow the dark away. 

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