Lost Children

I try to not let my mind travel far

When I see pacifiers, I think about the children that I lost

And have to hold my mind back again

To not think about the future

Table for one

Apartment in the building next to my sister’s house

I make dinner for two

Just for myself

You talk about loneliness

I tell you it makes me feel less whole

I still wake up late and stretch my arms across space

That never was there

You talk about loneliness

And it makes you feel less whole

I worry about the future and the silence it will bring

The ceilings I’ll spend nights with my face pointed to God, I think there’s something that I’m missing Good friends on the next block still in high demand

And I’ll think about the children that I lost

Pacifiers reminding me of another life

I forget how to exist gently, just move through world

No memory of the other side, but if death is here Then the offer is good

Pass the time of my life waiting for the bell to ring

Table for one, yes madam

It’s just me

No children that winter was cruel she took the light from your eyes every morning i would shiver when you entered the room when spring bloomed tears spilled so plentifully i took you to the orchard and you were so pale i held your hand we gathered colourful fruits longing for that effortless vibrancy reminiscent of your eyes all those months ago i watched you silently hugging the basket of fruit close to me i told you i loved you and all at once spring became summer as the sunshine returned to your sweet eyes the next day we had breakfast together and you told me to stop talking because i was making you laugh while you were eating the juice from the orange slices dripping down your chin was the same colour as the leaves which fell from the trees that autumn i wanted to tell you but maybe you wouldn’t remember after all, you didn’t see the smile on your face such a pretty smile that day when you were just so giddy i’ve never seen orange the same way

eilleen Grant

things my father gave me

Alanis Morrissette. A frightfully bad temper. The ability to clean a house the way nobody else can. The Black Keys. The script he wrote in college (he doesn’t write anymore). Midday outings to Ikea for the seventy-five cent hot dogs. The Catcher in the Rye. My first bike. A bad hairdo, when my mom went on a work trip over the weekend. Florence + The Machine. A fascination with F. Scott Fitzgerald, for all that’s worth. Bloody toenails (he used to cut them too short). Long silences on the other end of the line. Loneliness too big to deal with. Friendship, most of the time.

Gabrielle Cole

Erin Spangler, ‘Lifeline’. Materials - abortifacient plants (like queen Ann’s lace, yarrow, rue, etc), sand, wood, resin. About 30 x 12 cm.

Woah!

I was sitting cross legged, a second ago, now look, I’m a melting pool, -pot-, thinking about love, (for this whole spot), and that time I called, 911 because, I thought the phone was off, funny how it goes, when bodies, disappearing, and your self’s a part of, everything

Three steps forward *** the length of stillness *** the mouth opens to speak holds-time-still-expectation what to do with absence?

(it is there) the ocean is forever found, tomorrow or the other side of time where? the thirst of salt calls me forth

Speak! not me what? not me ***