Sunday, March 9, 2014

your urgent matters

only a few weeks into
it (whatever it was)
you came home

reeking of  
stained, soured hours
and stale smoke,
from the road

twisted in your sheets
as the door slammed
your hello

you pushed your tongue
feverishly inside me,
and my lips split red
against my teeth

didn’t even notice
the wet pillow, or
the damp on my cheeks
when finally,

were through

(how did you not see?) 
that night,
even the flowers were bleeding


  1. Good to see you writing, Lauren. Tough subject matter, but good nonetheless.

  2. why don't they ever notice?
    maybe it's better they overlook than over-interpret
    though i can't be sure


  3. You have transformed a violently dark moment into a stunningly beautiful poem. Art does not merely captivate an experience, but it seems to stem from an experience, becoming part of it but also becoming its own entity. I don't think creation which arises from darkness can ever take away the pain, but it is one of our only ways of coping and going on. You're a poet, Lauren.

    I'm really glad to have stumbled here. I am excited to read more of your writing.