We held snowflakes to our storm
and grew geraniums
in the corner of my mother’s
My story was not my brother’s
storm was not my storm was
not my brother’s story.
I pinch the dirt
with broken fingers,
to blow the soil away.
We lay our lives out
in photographs on the bedside table,
my whole life in a sandwich bag
in the drawer.
What do you keep
your bed side?
I can count my victories
on the broken tills
hidden behind the ice cream freezer
in the cinema I left behind.
– Aaron Kent
A spider’s web of cottonwood vibrated
Our eyelids opened and closed
on the robin’s eggs cracking
I kept my regrets on the bedside
And turned my back to them
My body curled toward the window, the wind
We keep thinking we’re special
But I am the unmaking
Just like everyone else
A sweaty body stuck to the bus seat
A too long stare at people on the sidewalk
A confusion of passing between left and right
I too could swell full of ocean water
And wash up on a letter’s shore.
– Carrie Adams