A contemporary poem about a bed made of arguments, using a concrete image system, a pressured turn and a restrained open ending.
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We made the bed with opposite corners. You pulled the sheet towards tomorrow; I tucked mine around the past. All night the mattress kept the score. At dawn, there was a strip of floor between us wide enough for one honest sentence and no place left to hide it.
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A rain-soaked telephone confession about fear, accountability and the moment a difficult truth is finally heard.
A domestic poem about a spare key, a room left behind and the uncertain work of letting an old attachment remain unfinished.
A brother writes to his sister after cancer treatment, holding fear, relief, delayed processing and the ordinary promise to keep answering.
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