A contemporary poem about where the colours meet, using a concrete image system, a pressured turn and a restrained open ending.
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At the edge of the market, two fabrics touched. One carried dust; one carried flame. The woman selling them said nothing when I asked which belonged to me. I bought the seam instead— that narrow country of joined threads, bright because it had been pulled apart.
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A familiar world tilts by one degree, enough to expose the quiet strangeness beneath routine.
A contemporary poem about the colour chooses a side, using a concrete image system, a pressured turn and a restrained open ending.
A surreal free-verse poem where a figure sits beneath a cloud for a face, balancing vulnerability, identity, and weather on a rooftop of red tiles.
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