• Jan Avellana

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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.

~ j. avellana


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the wild perhaps

yesterday, 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 snipp


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

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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