Poetry: If Grief Had a Color by Renée Agatep
I wouldn’t tell you it’s copper. I’d send you back up to the jukebox in our mojito summer, sucking spearmint and lime. The chromium lemon of streetlights expanding, trailing the […]
I wouldn’t tell you it’s copper. I’d send you back up to the jukebox in our mojito summer, sucking spearmint and lime. The chromium lemon of streetlights expanding, trailing the […]
You are the angleworm /and hook, its barb / bent back—
my shirt soaked in the scent / of magnolias
The year like all else/ is on the turn
sugar beach on green sea
a lantern sheathed in frozen butterflies / jaywalks into yellowing foliage
The craft dictates / you must tan / the skin until there is no fluid.
On my way to sleep I saw a door / open into a wallet
We couldn’t remember now back then,/and now we cannot forget.
the air around us changes/the atmosphere turns dire