Never Lost with Us
Lover, I’m sorry I turn into another person when it’s raining soot and moonlight outside— a severed truce between uncertainty
Sam Eliza GreenPublished 18 days ago in Poets
Peach Daisies
He used to give me peach daisies. I told him I hated flowers, but he picked one for me every Monday on our walk home from school, stow it in my palm and run ahead before I could give it back. It would end up on the ground, the petals smashed by bike tracks and roller blades of the next-door neighbors. When we stood on the porch of our brick farmhouse, he’d look at my empty hand in disappointment.
Sam Eliza GreenPublished 2 months ago in Fiction
Feed the Wolves
Tonight, my heartsore sister, we must remember to feed the wolves. Bitter and sick of starvation, they will hunt us like the earth ravaged its reckless. Un-name your rabbits. Thank them for comfort in the bleak and fortune of their swift feet. Each night endured requires sacrifice—this is yours. We, the restless, must learn to release ourselves from solace. Turbulence will haunt you long after day breaks. I will be here to soothe the pain.
Sam Eliza GreenPublished 2 months ago in Fiction
Queen of the Gulls
You forgot to feed the gulls. They found me, raw and resigned on the mound of collapsed sand castles and made me the queen of their vagrant colony.
Sam Eliza GreenPublished 2 months ago in Poets
Spotless Mind
Take me out of my mind. I’ll leave behind unloved memories. Help me escape the reigning pain in my brain but carefully
Sam Eliza GreenPublished 2 months ago in Poets
Chaos of the Reaper's Art
We lie defined by wayward covenants and lungs writhing beneath the stone heaviness of purely petrifying tides. Morning time, she and I will atone
Sam Eliza GreenPublished 2 months ago in Poets
Druid of the White Willow
The night she painted my bark with broken, bloodied berries, she foretold a kindred fate. We were divided by roots and bones—
Sam Eliza GreenPublished 2 months ago in Poets
Nineteen Years
Nineteen and afraid because she finally became nothing—ghostly, wading past her prime, time’s ebb and flow slowly
Sam Eliza GreenPublished 2 months ago in Poets
