Poetry – LINDS SANDERS

Those Places We Melt Into

What does it look like out your window? Out mine this spring flurry fills the gap between trees.
::: Published in QUIBBLE LIT:::

I don’t want to tell him Joe Rogan isn’t a deity.
::: Published in DECOMP JOURNAL:::

Stop romanticizing fly fishing.
Don’t name yourself brother
to the sky’s white rattling throat.
::: Published in SCAPEGOAT REVIEW:::

Like all secrets, waiting in dusty corners to dart when the door doesn’t latch behind.

::: Published in PLAINSONGS :::

I drift west with the books that survived Marie Kondo.

::: Published in FEVER DREAM :::

No one believes he has risen. Even the street-corner prophet
stops replacing his megaphone batteries.

::: Published in THE AVENUE :::

I serve the ones who looked like me
using silver inlay plates that cannot be microwaved.

::: Published in FEVER DREAM :::

My grandfather’s fingerprints trace the pathway from the makeshift bedroom to the bathroom.

::: Published in THE AVENUE :::

Like the forest, we’re held together by web lines seen only when weight is shifted back and forth.

::: Published in FEVER DREAM :::

My name is daughter, wife, woman
and I am eroding into one reliance: sorry.

::: Published in THE AVENUE :::

It’s tiring:
calling everyplace home.

::: Published in FEVER DREAM :::

I forget I was there, only five at the time. I like the story better without me in it.

::: Published in GYROSCOPE REVIEW :::

Every story follows one of seven archetypes; Voyage and Return is most popular, followed by Rebirth.

::: Published in THE WONDROUSLY REAL MAGAZINE :::

Who owns the sentimentality I traded for cash.

::: Published in OPEN DOOR MAGAZINE :::

I’m not creative enough to think of who you would be at 43. Out of habit, I still try.

::: Published in RISING PHOENIX REVIEW :::