TRACY BROSCH – OLAN MILLS

Olan Mills

Once I wore a dead girl’s dress;
elastic bands loose on alabaster limbs.
The flash of a bulb captured
a sash of yellow ribbon and
eyes of rainless oceans.

The portrait hung there
submerging memories
of the daughter who came before me.

Her chance to fill the puffy sleeves,
stripped in evening slumber.
A babe drifted into black velvet
lined with stone, wood, and earth.

My Mother’s arms barren;
Daddy’s apple rotting,
leaving never a bite for me.
Still, I ache for the embrace
of her hand-me-down dress
on my skin once more.

A faded photograph,
on a pale yellow wall
is my only connection to
a ghost I call sister.

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RYAN QUINN – NITROUS

Nitrous

Can of nitrous, what is so funny?
Laying on the floor on your side
like a toppled statue.
Beside all your friends.
Yes, I have socks on my feet,
they are wool because it is cold.
Why are you laughing, can of nitrous?
The furniture may all be second hand,
but it’s paid for.
There is food in the fridge, and therefore
a lot less to worry about.
My father said I could be anything
I wanted to be, but he was an accountant.
Do you think he always wanted to
be an accountant?
Me neither.
I really have to clean these windows,
you can barely see out of them.
I think I will paint a picture of a bowl of fruit.
Why are you laughing?

 

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