On:

(with a nod to Rumi)The you I once knew is tied up in a basement. It’s dark and cold and isolated from view. When I illuminate your body, with a candle’s flicker, and the knots that bind you to that sturdy wooden chair, I can’t let myself stay too long.ThisContinue Reading

On:

She stared at me with her marble eyesand knotted my heart so tightit turned to splintered stone—pieces pierced my souland turned it as well.Then—now, I am alone–unmarked graniteabove a grave not yet dug. Lynette G. Esposito, MA Rutgers, has been published in Poetry Quarterly, North of Oxford, Twin Decades, RememberedContinue Reading

On:

The dark nightstreams filaments of her indigo curlsacross the frosty sky.Embellished with stars,loosened locks showerthe late evening with tiny interwoven knotsthreading the curved dome tightly together. The translucent plaits seem to shiverin the crisp air. I walk home not minding my path— look up– watch,waitfor one to unravel or toContinue Reading

On:

My muses have amusing waysof teasing me on silent daysby giving me no words to writeuntil I try to sleep at nightthen hide the notepad I keep nearand dry my pen so that no tearof ink will cry upon the page,thus leaving me a nightmare’s ragewhich twists my dreams inContinue Reading

On:

My stepson only eats hamburgersand fries. And chicken nuggets.Nary a vegetable or piece of fruit. And whydoesn’t he get scurvy and die? He never goes outside. Zeroexposure to the sun. Just stays in his roomplaying video games all day. And whydoesn’t he get rickets and die? Just look at hisContinue Reading

On:

With both hands reach into middle schoolUse one thumb to hold off effervescenceWhile the other digs around the backyardLooking for your eye that went missingThat one August after the car accidentWrap the main sheet around your palmThree times then shift your perspectiveWhile you watch your brother sail throughThe finish lineContinue Reading