In our attic,
among things, as it seems
of past lives,
lives a bitter God.
When guests come to our house,
we don’t mention him.
When we’re alone,
we talk about him quietly,
fearing of being heard.
We do not know exactly when he moved in,
nor do we know why exactly with us.
Maybe because of the serenity.
___
The featured image accompanying this poem, entitled ‘I. Am. Legend’, have been used with the permission of artist Patricio Betteo.
The idea of a soul mate wasn’t something I subscribed in. And his clumsiness sure as hell didn’t help. But at the age of 19, I was intrigued.
___The featured image accompanying this piece, entitled ‘Spectrum’, has been used with the permission of artist, Robert Alan, a mixed media artist from New York
hurricane Syllables [hur-i-keyn, huhr– or, esp. British, -kuh n] –noun After a couple weeks sentence of staying in some foreign place with trees, she came back home and Miami
