Poetry: Night Song by Stephanie Athena Valente

Photo by Luigi Boccardo

dark :: blue :: stars

i’ll tell you stories, sweet-thing.
i was a greek column once, maybe,
a water-bearer, a rosemary pricked voice,
never was a warrior or an oracle,
probably full of

prayer :: oil :: asked the gods

under a night sky for a sign, for a ghost-visit
no, i never set foot on the homeland(s)
i grew up suburban poor, did you have to ask?
it’s tense now, in your living room,
it feels like blood

silent couch :: empty :: regret

sweet-thing, i often sat by the window, thinking
of car crashes or paycheck-to-paychecks
pretending to be the voice of delphi,
crying on the carpet
did you want to hear a song?

Stephanie Athena Valente lives in Brooklyn, NY. Her published works include Hotel Ghost, waiting for the end of the world, and Little Fang (Bottlecap Press, 2015-2019). She has work included in Reality Hands, Maudlin House, and Cosmonauts Avenue. She is the associate editor at Yes, Poetry. Sometimes, she feels human. stephanievalente.com

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