Poems

“Nine… Eight… Who The Hell Had The Remote?” [Wreath] The cheap champagne is already sweating on the coffee table, sweating worse than any of us,half the snacks are gone, the other half are crushed into the carpet like offerings to some hungry couch god,and the TV is still on that dumb movie you “just wanted […]

“Secondhand Magic in the Blue Bin” [Wreath]By the time the holiday hangover settles into the couches and the last relative’s perfume has faded from the curtains, the house stands in that sacred after-battle hush where every surface looks like a department store exploded and nobody wants to move first,Wrapping paper draped over chair arms like

[Wraith] The Auditor Of Naughty And NiceThe list was never a simple scroll of cheerful names in looping ink, not really, not once you peeled back the glitter and the myth and the storybook gloss they sold to kids along with candy canes and cartoons,it was a ledger wide enough to wrap around the world

[Wreath] Paper Garlands in the Cracked ConcreteThe neighborhood was built from concrete and broken promises,pavement split like old knuckles, water stains crawling down the walls,but the kids still turned the alley into an echo chamber of laughter,their kicks sending plastic bottles rolling like drunk little meteors.Maria stood in the doorway of a home that barely

Yuletide Whispers behind Thin Walls [Wreath]The first whisper of the night crawls in sideways from the hallway, thin as cigarette smoke and carrying the sound of someone shushing someone else while laughing into their sleeve,The house has eaten too much noise all day long, kids detonating in sugar highs, relatives banging opinions together like rusty

[Wraith] Sugar Mortuary on the TableThe kitchen smells like cinnamon, burnt edges, and ambition,a long table lined with gingerbread houses that look innocent from a safe distance,tiny suburbs made of sugar where the frosting smiles too hard,gumdrop roofs shining like they’re trying to distract you from something buried in the crumbs.Kids stick their tongues out

Wreath Made Of What I Did [Wraith]I am the last ugly echo of a dead house, boots sunk deep in frost on a ridge that forgot every name but mine,Dawn crawls up over the valley like it is afraid of what it might see here, light dragging across rusted helms and split shields in a

Wristbands for the Damned [Wraith]The sun was doing that brochure thing, glitter on water, soft haze on horizon, air thick with airport sunscreen and cheap perfume burned into skin,We stumbled off the shuttle in wrinkled college hoodies and thrifted beachwear, laughing louder than we felt, finally somewhere that wasn’t exams, debt, or dorm room din,The

Wool and What It Hides [Wraith]Night piles up along the street in crooked drifts, that bitter kind of cold that sits behind the eyes and waits,Breath comes out in ghosty little storms that fade as fast as every promise you swore you’d keep this year before the bills, the calls, the stacked-up plates,You stand in

Where the Snow Laughs Under Its Breath [Wraith]The first flakes arrive like they’re apologizing for existing, slow and hesitant,drifting sideways through the sour orange glare of streetlamps,little scraps of frozen apology tumbling down onto roofs already tired of carrying this year,and you stand at the window with a mug gone cold in your hand,watching the