I was planning to recite a comforting poem today. I changed my mind.
Twenty-Seven
Looking for myself again and also trying to lose her
Dispatches from the Middle of the Night
More than once, I’ve felt the night slip closed around me— not a comfort, exactly—& looked up into a sky I cannot refuse.
Sedimentary
Red and cream rock crumbles in my hand. It asks me: stone or sand? but it doesn't demand.
early morning in the wash
where the road runs out the depth of choosing begins
Tara K. Shepersky 