Tag Archives: poetry

The Things That Destroy Me

by Michelle Kubilis


1.
Her name slips past his lips
after they had been on mine.

2.
He says she won’t let go
but his hand is holding tight.

3.
I catch him smiling at her pictures.
“Just good memories, that’s all.”

4.
She thinks she’s better for him.
He agrees.

5.
The break-up.
An ex for an ex.

6.
Him
& her.

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Polarity

by Michelle Kubilis


I had known it the whole time
our love wouldn’t fade like sunlight through trees
It was a lie when I told you that
we were stretched thin – an emptiness searching for hope.

we were stretched thin – an emptiness searching for hope.
It was a lie when I told you that
our love wouldn’t fade like sunlight through trees.
I had known it the whole time

Body Count

by Shaun Terry


Another dead body sits on the pile,
reeking of cigarettes and gin,
half-smiling up at me behind smeared makeup,
its eyes rotating, trying to lock into mine.

The threads of your little cornflower date dress
stretch – barely making it – from one hip
all the way to the other hip,
and you smell like roses and acetone.

I fumbled over microwavable cliches
and feigned confusion
of the exclusively internal sort,
but in the dark corridors of our “romance,”
I was really just reaching into your chest
like in the Temple of Doom scene,
only to swallow it whole
without anyone noticing,
including myself.

I’m really very sorry. I didn’t mean it.
And yes; I ate your ice cream.

You’re not the first.
You won’t have been the last.


Shaun Terry is a 34-year old non-traditional student at the University of North Carolina, studying economics, after which he intends to work in Social Justice. He has a 5-year old daughter and spends his free time writing poetry and prose, as well as making music. Some of his writing can be found at http://shaunterrywriter.wordpress.com. He’s also interested in Myers-Briggs Typology, psychology more generally, and science and philosophy. Obviously, he drinks plenty of lattes.

Meeting An Estranged Son

by Kushal Poddar


Short messages of blue
enters the treetop.
Grilled cheese and nothing-
he wants. Water in
the tall glass alerts
every time some car
passes. Moon rises
atop the mill’s chute.
We see no stars these days.
I want him to want
some more. Grilled cheese. Next?
His fingers hide his palm.
You cannot just return
and make everything right.
He doesn’t say and says.
In a message, his mother
made him my look alike.
I watch the etching,
the curves, strokes, give it
an eight. A B Plus.
A maudlin grin.