Yes, you were intense as incense, both elegance and coherence, a bull to my china shop, the red to my pepper, the miel to my chamo tea. But you wrote me off as a bohemian storm. Never mind that I was gibberish to your jarble, the spark to your spur, the spit to your fire. […]
The spiders in my room are growing. They keep the mosquito population in check. Smeared corpses speckle my walls. My sheets are stained with red wax from that time I fell asleep with a candle burning. I have off-brand M&M’s in my closet. My plants need watering but the sink’s too far. There are dust […]
I’d like to go no further than I can throw a stone, no higher than my head, no faster than my legs, progressing slowly as the ocean frittering rocks into sand. I’ll dance as long and live as fast as a snowflake lifted into the sky, and watch the puddles harden into glaze, sparing in […]
Pain comes on soft cat feet, curls up on my lower belly, waits until its weight becomes intolerable and will not move even when force is used: oxycodone and cannabis. Insufficient crowbars to move a fluid weight.
They pulled the tube that piped the poison into your heart. Words like remission are still too sacred to speak openly. Only dare you whisper silently on bended knee. In each day passing you rediscover highway bike rides, swimming in summer moonlights by crackling fires. All too fragile to call by name (healthy, awake, alive). Take each moment […]
There are flies in your lungs Wings plastered that never left From inhaling too long Mouth open in the dark You never Slept when it was raining Emily Barker is a student at Western Washington University. Her poems are forthcoming in Fearsome Critters and Jeopardy Magazine.
At the Precise Moment of the Solstice Lie in a wheelbarrow like a sack of potatoes, clumps of earth still clinging to your plump, moist body – you’ve been buried so long, you still smell of soil – and let your head dangle over the front edge of the barrow, so you can see both […]
we leave our names in hands always letting go on purpose Never answer So they fall a little short and huddle closer together Long for someone to take them home Or even just the thought of someone till the moon forgets its own and all that is left is this mist trailing twine below our […]
Nikoletta Nousiopoulos is a mother, wife, and poet who resides in Southeastern Connecticut. She published all the dead goats in 2010 with Little Red Tree Publishing. Some of her poetry has appeared in Tammy, Pioneertown Literary Journal, Thin Noon, Meadowland Review, and others. She is taking some time off as an adjunct professor of writing […]
I could have died that morning and no one would have been the wiser. The thieves fled on foot. Nobody chased them. She pointed the pistol at him and said, All right, you bastard, this is it. She was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen, and I knew she could never love me. […]