Poems
By the Sink
I wish I could hug you by the sink, where the broken window leaks cold air upon your shoulders as you wash the dishes. You pretend prettiness, but you’re rusting more than ever. In the murky room near the exit my ruminations turn inward. Outside the window, a flock of grey geese disappears into the empty sky. Later, in my soft sheets, I long to hear a loving voice emerge from your empty mouth. c. Triada Samaras 2024 |