MAYBE THIS WILL BE BETTER THAN THE LAST

Poem by Paris LeClaire I said, in vain, of course, butAlready I had mispelled the titleAnd the word “misspelled” and allI can think to write is the quietWord “ephemeral.” There is no greater loss than thatOf the language through which weBreathe, except, perhaps, for the dirt stainCreeping up on the clean white of mySandals. Perhaps.Continue reading “MAYBE THIS WILL BE BETTER THAN THE LAST”

MY FIRST POEM

Poem by Paris LeClaire I am lying sideways on a momentI will feel, feel, feel until the dark slug slidingBetween my trachea and my esophagusIsn’t a slug but a waterCreature—or maybe some otherScaled, amphibious thing. Maybe.I’m not sure where I’ve seen it (I know I have):Not everything feels like something else.