Published January 15th, 2025
by Grace Sanford
Light releases today & tightly
black leaves black leaves black leaves
as an eyelid
front door
latch in Prospect Heights
apartment wary dog owner
Thought returns starving. She sneaks in
early & she does not clean up after herself
I am preparing for that one day
she will not return. So I have to ask about before:
actor enters, credit appears, adulthood
becomes
Shall I ask light? I cannot ask bylines
Like my nail beds, bylines are stupid
& bleeding & I am allergic to after
A sink that leaks understands.
Still sitting here sometimes is only...
why are they black?
& why leaves
where did they come from?
It is hard underneath this tree. It is hard to see
where leaves are from. I am not looking
up. Do you not also
wonder where
from & for how long
they have come – the
black leaves black leaves black leaves black leaves black leaves black leaves
black leaves black leaves black leaves
that silence us
that give us silence?
About the Poet
Grace Sanford resides in Brooklyn, New York, United States.
Read the poet's biography on Grace Sanford's Artist Page.
This poem is included in Comet #4,
published in the Wax Poetry and Art Library.
Previously published in NYC Poetry Magazine:
Spaghettification is a Back Crack
by V. Joy
NYC Poetry Magazine is part of the Wax Poetry and Art Network.
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- Visit the Wax Poetry and Art Library.
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