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  • Writer's pictureLauren Meir

Photographs In Six Stanzas

ONE

I want to touch the edge of your voice,

the place you carry the most hurt

but also laugh hardest. That thin red boundary

between eye corner and lip curl. Your hair wet

in the rain, light dancing across a fragile smile.


TWO

How the trees bend down as though in prayer,

watching us wayward children. Buildings

mute, fixed against our gauzy innocence.

In green we are radiant, earth-born.

We don't belong here.


THREE

Her eyes are searching for the sea,

The crests of waves she imagines pulling her down

into the bottomless gray. Outside she is driftless,

but within her a thousand shades of blue swirl in unison.


FOUR

The way the light touches the summer leaves in dusk

upends me like I'm a glass of something too much,

threatening to spill over at any moment. Careless,

the taste is sharp on my lips, dark and dangerous.


FIVE

He is reassuringly marble. Cool, substantial. Calm

as the sea where he grew up. The air scalds, admonishing -

but he is the ocean. The quiet is filled with him in spaces

where he takes root. A juxtaposition of extremes.


SIX

Seven little girls in a row. Maryjanes and seriousness.

Only one smiles wider than heaven, her dreams

bigger than sky, bigger than she knows how to hold.

Her hands are empty, but her teeth glitter like

stars swallowed up by the slice of moon.








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