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Letter to Myself in the Future #4

I slide my heart inside a folded sheet of paper and tape down the opening.

Letter to Ruth Stone

Another light is growing out of their shadows. You can hear it.

Letters to a Young Writer

We lived below the poverty level. I wasn’t allowed to desire objects.

Liberty Lanes

Robin Troy

Lichen Song

I stay gripped to pine and the sugar of existence runs through you.

Lieutenant Mason

That’s how a lifetime passes, closing the wound, a million stitches.

Light as Imagined through a Body of Ice

An expansion into light, or we could have been, or were for a moment.

Lightning Time

It’s wrong to say the lightning is pink is nothing other than to say it’s not.

Like an Animal and Other Poems

When I speak and wave my arms, it sniffs the air and watches me.

Listening and Other Poems

Break me like bread. Take me apart. Strip each rib down to light.

Little Selves

She closed her mind to all familiar shapes and strained back.

Look Again

I know that hairs
on my head go singly gray only
by night.

Looking at Stars with George

We crunch through the snow in the predawn blue-black cold. He tells me about the stars: Vega, Betelgeuse, Arcturus, Rigel.

Looters

He sobbed; he said he would go to therapy, stop drinking.

Losing My Mother

“We know what can happen,” Mike says. “We choose to do this.”

Lost and Found

They felt smarter and sexier, especially when together.

Lovers

Lovers, a new set of six-word stories from Elizabeth Benedict.

Lullaby

Something has to be what this is, old and primitive, and it sounds like this.

Lunar Calendar

The moon rescinds its blessing, rests its forehead on a crosier of ivory.

Maine Night

Idzia is a little monster. For a monster, though, she’s awfully cute.

Maintenance

Each time he retells that morning my dad forgets I was there too.

Make It Black

Maybe that’s what she feels, not stranded, but suspended in time.

Makeshifts

Ice and evergreen and sun; three moments arranged for human looking.

Making a Difference

I had pasted a pink Post-it to my phone screen that said DON’T DRINK.

Mama Scarecrow

she will unchew the dried bulbs of history, spit them at the foot of her post.

Marking the Swans and Other Poems

I never entered no-man’s-land by any light brighter than the palest moon.

Marriage

You move rocks, run water, check the path of mouse and rabbit.

Material

My soul’s parts know little and don’t care whether I live or die.

Medial Tibial Stress Syndrome

When you turn fifty, you have to prove to yourself you’ve got something left.

Meditation Having Felt and Forgotten

Language seems accomplice to grieving, everything dissolves.