Comments (0) Issue 1, Poetry, Writing


Jaime Twombly


Grown from a sapling into an

Awkward young thing

Nibbling on fingertips, clumsy

And tripping over shoelaces tied

Not so carefully


I tried to write you a poem

Rolled the words over my tongue,

Put them inside packages tied

With little blue bows but

They never made it onto paper


So I stare at blank pages

Digging for inspiration underneath

The onion layers of this lifetime

Searching for something

Lost along the way


Slipped from my pocket and

Fell to the ground with

No sound at all as the

Floor of the forest folded my secrets

Underneath her leaves

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