“Love changed. Love disappeared, slowly, like baby teeth; losing parts of me I thought I needed. Love vanished like an amateur magician; everyone could see the trap door but me.”
“I don’t know exactly what a prayer is, but tonight I listen to a dying woman sing. Her body waterless, her tongue a dark dried rose, she knew all the words even from the other side of morphine’s ponds.”
Don’t miss this poem from Sierra DeMulder, performing at Albany Barn in Albany, NY