|Arsenic Lobster poetry journal||
|Land of Amber Sky
These are facts: Gracie trails her ears through dandelions and ends up with white wisps on her eyelids.
I think, for that, she deserves the name Andromeda, the potential for gold in the ordinary.
As I try to take a picture, she grabs the decomposed rabbit foot she’s had on her mind for days.
Sometimes, the key to believing your worth is letting truth in.
It will be the right time, I think, considering whether or not I will accept love.
He has been here all along, saying it. I have been faithless out of self-protection.
Searching for connection is like clearing away litter from Central Park’s Imagine mosaic;
picking a used toothpick or shard of glass off of a black-and-white rainbow.
Maybe the gods-of-me say, she’s responding well to thunder one day and she needs less the next.
It’s important to watch the season change: fat birds pick at all the new buds, sending their faces to the sun.
About Christina Seymour