Literary Submissions to the Thorn

Reading
Young tummies
pressed into the floor
Elbows sore from the grain
of the carpet
Turning and turning pages
his little side right next to mine
touching such a little
bit of me
yet all of him
Sunshine from the window
then lamplight from the desk
set his little boy buzz
to glowing
around the edges
His rounded chin and cheeks
all one curve of soft
grabbed their share of warmth
His little jaw working
backward and forward
in concentration, his smooth
tiny tongue between his teeth.


Smoke Signals
Desperate to understand
The signals you were sending
I got too close
And now the smoke
Is lodged within my throat
Expanding and demanding
All my attention
As I endeavor not to choke


Long House
Respected and strangely regal
Alone and yet not lonely
Rather enjoying the attention by
stealing the empty stage
in its ragged shirttails
and worn through boots.
Ridiculous in its stage makeup
Stark and still
it demands respect and
ignores the suicide hot line stickers
on the door.