juste

A Way by Sheila Murphy

His eyes are sloped and sad gray blue. He looks away in situ frameless. I see a field. I leave […]

there is a paper cut on the skin of my soul, the past beats inside me like a second heart.

It’s Sunday, the morning after our first night back in our old apartment with Daddy, and the place is quiet.

after Archibald MacLeish The sun hovers on the horizon before creeping over mountains and meadows over oceans hills houses and

My dream: I sleep through your funeral, then stand, eulogy in hand, as the last car pulls away from the

What water touches becomes clean. Touched water becomes impure, it is purest between heaven and earth. There is no pure

The closer we get to your father’s house, the emptier the land around us gets. Here, I feel like we

The crimson triangle flickers, becomes a glowing azure parallelogram. Metallic flecks of turquoise and indigo break away as it mutates