When Sadness Comes

When Sadness Comes

it is as familiar as a sister. She fills the bathtub, unravels my clothing into a heap on the floor. She sits on the toilet, painting her toenails, singing my favorite songs, while I soak. She has the most beautiful voice. The phone rings and rings and I let it just lay there screaming for help. Or it doesn’t and I watch it sit silent as the dead on my dresser. She doesn’t want to go out tonight. I beg her, tell her she can wear anything in my closet. She tells me no baby girl, no, not tonight, maybe tomorrow. There is a refrigerator full of food. I want none of it.

– Sierra DeMulder

Letter to the Woman Who Stopped Writing Me Back

Letter to the Woman Who Stopped Writing Me Back

I remember your collarbone, forming the tiniest
satellite dish in the universe, your smile
as the place where parallel lines inevitably crossed.

I remember your eyes: fifty attack dogs on a single leash,
how I once held the soft audience of your hand.

I’ve been ignored by prettier women than you,
but none who carried the heavy pitchers of silence
so far, without spilling a drop.

– Jeffrey McDaniel