United States of America

ghost town

i tried to tell about the night... and i could not tell it; as i cannot tell it now.

i know i’m bound to lose / when i feel the need to use why i’m full
-wallows, i’m full

Message from Writer


i’ve been around a while. the form and the quality of my writing has changed over the years, but the themes are eternal:
food and the hate of it, family and the love of it, and youth and the mystery of it.

these nights (sister)

February 2, 2020



she’s half my size and age, that child;
somehow she never sleeps.
she comes to me at midnight, 
not wraithlike but just there.
she reminds me that there was a time 
when mother here would keep
night watch beside my crying 
eyes; now mother sleeps downstairs.

it calls her from her distant room 
with tears and distant eyes:
this bed too large for one, 
too small for two, too warm for waste.
sometimes she comes without a word
and sits and breathes, and sighs.
sometimes she asks when she will die
and starts, alert, the wait.

and then she leaves again, away 
to cold, unvacant rooms.
after brief, vague conversations 
she lies wise and terrified.
enlightenment of fear and night
make her something true:
a prophet, teacher, watching reapers 
in the dark outside.


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  • February 2, 2020 - 12:10pm (Now Viewing)

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  • Anha

    february highlights are live, and you're in them! (guess what piece i loved last month lmao)

    20 days ago
  • Anha

    ooft, i love this?? from the moment i read "she comes to me at midnight, / not wraithlike but just there." i knew i was in for a great piece. this phrase seems to set the tone for the rest of the poem - a whisp of a girl shivering in the face of a world she doesn't not completely understand yet. (or perhaps she understands it too well.) "a prophet, teacher, watching reapers / in the dark outside." i respect you so goddamn much and wow, my respect is not misplaced. you're a gem.

    2 months ago