Poetry 11/39

Sad Girl Diaries

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The person behind the counter - Swetha Amit

The grocery shop is packed with treasures and I spy on the box of goodies on the counter next to you they look delicious and tempting...

A Question to the Tea Leaves - Ruth Towne

In the teacup, only a teaspoon of liquid remains, almost room temperature now. My left hand lifts the cup, my eyelids drop for a moment....

I Was Eight When We Met - Paula Praeger

One-hundredth birthday balloon suspended over her throne at her daughter’s dining room table laden with eats. Centenarian reigns. Talk,...

I am a contested territory - Julie Benesh

Was she pretty, poor, ugly, rich? Hard- working or lucky? Her 7s look like boarding school in Switzerland, but her...

Signs - Laura Daniels

The last thing I remember as my eight-year-old head hit the pillow was that we had to move. The landlord sold our home, and the new owner...

Pilgrim’s Compass - Barry Casey

I wanted to be ten when I was eight, I wanted to be eighteen. I wanted more when I was young. I craved a mind which opened naturally to...

Dreaming New York - John Horváth

It's where we all go, where the dough uprises, becomes bread. Thirty-and-nine. Scratching my balls at a Ballenchine ballet. The...

What I Remember About Dying - Evyenia Downey

1. Sweat slick. Firm grip. A knuckle carved trail to an open mouth. Silent oh, but my god, I’m sorry for not calling your name. 2. Pop as...

Taming of the Curls - Justine Defever

Makeover montages and infomercials of the early 2000s taught me beauty is just a flat iron away— Fix unsightly frizzy hair by scorching...

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