the colors under my boots and gray, gloomy skies will soon fade to brown
By Kay Husnick5 months ago in Poets
If I were her, I would never eat another blueberry again.
violence a last word before a shot rings out, a wound, a slumped body under words Prove Me Wrong, and we are left divided, pointing fingers before a suspect is named
Someone asked me the other day if I miss New York, and the unspoken comparison of this small town in their mind is all I could hear.
By Kay Husnick6 months ago in Poets
Someone before you thought they knew me, built a picture in their head that my words and actions could never prove wrong.
I notice the unpaid car bill before the date hits me as your birthday. Last year, I made the payment for maybe the fourth month in a row,
The first step is the hardest one foot in front of the other into the darkness, but it could be a key. It could be the first one pressed to the next to the next
Call it a cleansing, the way I donated and discarded the memories of ghosts long gone; they don't need to live in my closet anymore, laid to rest in cardboard caskets
Some moments, I will keep to myself, to us private, hidden, protected, perfect. Others, I will never find the right words to share
Suddenly, the boxes I put in storage a while ago feel less like a long-lost to-do list. They and the empty totes and the set-aside bubble wrap are a step toward the future,
By Kay Husnick7 months ago in Poets
I should be there with you now, not a week from now, not in two or seven months. We plan to look at paint colors, talk about rearranging, making your house our home,
Most days, I'm good. Healed. Safe. Fine, but the memories I've buried aren't that deep, not enough that scrolling to a personal PSA can't dig them up
By Kay Husnick8 months ago in Poets
