Fiction

Poetry

The Day of Our Meeting

I dreamed of the day, In the dead of winter, A dreary day, When I’d step off the train And see you there- The day

Poetry

The God in the Attic

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.

Poetry

Ghost Hunting

I’m hunting for ghosts,In alleys lit by memories,Phantoms of yesterday,Carved out of my mind.What I once held,You me and our dreams,Scraped knees and screeching swings,Pokémon

Poetry

When You Grow Up

I’d rather be a collapsed flower drenched in rainwater; succumbed to the well where wishes weld winning whims. though not alone as the barren heart

Poetry

50s Dresses

Floral straight jackets hiding women
It’s too pretty to get dirty.