Anna Volk

Joined May 2021

0 stories

Bio

Poet for life and creator in multiple mediums.

Stories (10/0)

Frequent Flyer
I like airports. They are the one place that I have a legitimate excuse to wander aimlessly and ignore phone calls. For all anyone outside of the heavily secured bubble knows, I'm having a cavity search and can't be bothered or perhaps my plane has taken off and proceeded to crash into the Pacific Ocean. They can't be too mad, just mildly annoyed that their attempts to make contact and subsequent demands will be futile for the remainder of the day. They'll have to give up on their endeavor to get me to review banal, non-urgent paperwork or move a couch. They'll call someone else. There's always someone else. For that sort of thing anyway.
By Anna Volk2 years ago in Confessions
Cordially Invited
With strange, faint phalanges it stretches across the sky and lingers in the space between too close and almost arm's reach. The pink patina of summer's solstice eve veils each house and dahlia and bluebird in a sleeping bride's dream. Westerly wind sweeps by, carrying notes of charcoal, jasmine, and damp earth. And somewhere, from an undisclosed topiary, a cricket orchestra warms up its strings as the air becomes cool marble. Seagulls squawk. Sun sinks, a final bow for another brilliant performance. Then, with one, last touch, it turns the world to gold and melts into the moon. Through the dim, streetlamps spit sparks like watermelon seeds to light the way home.
By Anna Volk2 years ago in Poets
Bumping Into the Divine
To some things, I know, I have rendered disservice in an attempt to explain. My words would try to fill a void only to evaporate.
By Anna Volk2 years ago in Poets
Bedside Table
Thrown open— the drawer reveals an academy of teachings, Tarot of the Sidhe, Buddahdasa Bikku, the Holy Bible (ESV edition). All bound up, cut perfectly even . Acquired through polite distribution on street corners and restaurant tables or wrapped in pretty paper with a bow for Christmas. At best, the mind shapes them into little doorways for passing through. At worst, trite lassos with which to contain the chaos
By Anna Volk2 years ago in Poets
Another, Please
Oh, won’t you stay? I think you should. The coffee just came on. The conversation’s just getting good. Eye to eye, I know the look
By Anna Volk3 years ago in Poets
But to Be Alive
Shuffle to the kitchen. Start the old brew. Lay back down, next to my dog, next to my man. They sleep. I dream with my eyes open.
By Anna Volk3 years ago in Poets
Meanwhile
My life doesn’t revolve around any one, particular point. My life winds around itself. And, it seems, I only come out at night to roam the halls of the once waking world, past the locked public library doors, the abandoned football field, an empty swing set. That’s when I’ll notice the first one.
By Anna Volk3 years ago in Poets
The Road to St. Julian's Cathedral
Magnus told me where it was to be dropped—in the fountain on the other side of a dream. Of course, it made no sense at the time. None of it did. Most of it still doesn’t.
By Anna Volk3 years ago in Fiction
Bone Meal
Ideologies can only get you so far. They swell and recede like the tide, wrangled by the moon. As certain as sky they come back again,
By Anna Volk3 years ago in Poets
Incognito
My soul’s a crackling electric blue, a live wire rattling through, aiming to strike once, strike true— crash into someone like you.
By Anna Volk3 years ago in Poets

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