• Jan Avellana

the wild perhaps

Updated: Apr 8, 2019


i opened up the drawer— where my will-o’-the-wisps sleep letting my fingers feel for the frayed edges of a small gauze parcel, i unbound the wrappings, exposing scraps of soot covered snippets within-- i held each tender bit of earth, one by one, kissing the blackened edges, carbon powder on my lips, evidence of what might have been and what almost was-- miscarriages of nascent wishes.

oh how i tried to fan that bark and those sticks of elm and birch, turning myself inside out, willing them with clenched fists to burn, cupping my moist breath between raw hands, breathing (as if i could)-- life into the embers which glowed, then quickly smoldered and did not alight, too wet and green then to flame, do you remember?

i’ve saved just one more audacious thought it’s here, tucked away inside my carboard box of hope—

should i light it now?

withered and brown and past all chance, i lean into the wild perhaps that these kindling of dreams, have one more chance in them to burn ablaze, though surely the hour has grown too late for me? but not, maybe, for you. - j. avellana


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grief saunters in, like a rude house guest who forgets her key at 2 am-- tracking in mud, leaving her sandals strewn about, letting the screen door slam behind her. ~ j. avellana

untitled 2

meet me under the soft moon, when the fruitless fingers almost touch the ground-- weary with waiting and sorrow. we can breathe then-- and utter all the unsayable things that words could never say. ~

the answers you seek

the answers you seek are waiting for you in the poems you are too afraid to write. ~ j. avellana

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