low lights

I’m not sure I’m homesick
so much as starved for a place
that I’ve never known
I’m cherub faced like them
I guess
but not so much stone
too much blood and guts
and hair and muck
In CVS yesterday a lady
followed me around the store
I had a book bag on
and an apple watch
but I still looked “ready to
stole”
at work I’m always smiling
always grinning
tongue pressed up against
the ceiling
weird muscle to flex
but that’s all I know
at night I grind my teeth
and clench my fist inside
my thighs and
I think about Prague a lot
the bridge and the absinthe
and the cartwheels on the Petřín
that might’ve been real freedom
I think.
I watch my movie in a loop
and think of the low-lights
in the storms
the islands made me
this loud
you know
too much sun
and salt water
swallowed and up
my nose
– Sheila C.
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dry eye

here is a smattering of your dignity

there is not a dry eye in the place

your perseverance has made addicts of all

of them

you’re such a phoenix

making your own ashes

trying to glue yourself together

again

-sheila c.

window 

lavish white 

cement towers 

lie to the east,

adjacent to the ocean.

each one outfitted

with fluid balconies

where the waves

can’t yet reach. 

10 stories up 

there is a window 

with a soft light 

that flickers 

with made for tv’s,

as the rest sleep.

there is sand 

in the floorboards 

& camels in the trays.  

“you’re a good person.”

you sit & ruminate 

facing 

the window. 

going over 

your words,

in stead.

-SC