How bittersweet beginnings are,
because the taste of the fatal end,
is still fresh on the tongue.
But,
Read More »Tag: free verse
My Hands.
my hands,
from which i divine with.
to caress a glossy deck
and trust that they know when to pull a sword or a cup.
palms up in my lap during quiet morning musings,
to invite stillness and knowing into my days.
an ode to porches.
To porches,
for carrying the heavy late nights and the bountiful early mornings,
for the oak to hold our treads,
to cradle our sorry existences,
to brace us under the lumens.
a window isn’t enough.
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Hope is a Finite Resource.
Hope courses through my veins,
but one nick and it empties onto my skin.
THE FINAL EXAM
If not for your sweet curves and sugar lips, how would I know bitterness?
If not for your striking grit, how would I know timidity?
If not for your heavy and boundless laughs, how would I know silence?
Lashanda Forsberg 