A contemporary poem about the furniture learns my name, using a concrete image system, a pressured turn and a restrained open ending.
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First the desk stopped accepting my excuses. Then the wardrobe kept only what fit the truth. The bed became difficult to enter with a borrowed dream. I thought the room was judging me. Perhaps it was simply becoming the shape of my life.
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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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