A Few Poems

by: Stacy

Low Fat Pages
My notebook laughed,
my pen tickling it with nonsense.
The ink used to scratch and massage,
but now its touch is shallow and lazy.

And the pages delight
in carrying lighter loads
than the thought-soaked
words I used to write.



Untitled
Yesterday I chose
to be a typical big sister
and snoop through
your nightstand.

Beyond layers of old
school notes,
beneath foundations of folders
filled with loose leaf,

to the wooden bottom
of the drawer.
And still I found
nothing.

You've got no
secrets,
while I have a whole new world
behind my drawer pulls.

What's it like to have walls
that need not talk,
because you do all
the talking for them?

What's it like to crack
open your lips and let
thoughts pass them
to taste fresh air?


You have no
buried treasure,
while my veins are packed with
secrets in forms of gold coins.






Sara's Mirror
Mounted on your bathroom wall,
my whole surface made of eyes,
I'm studying you
studying yourself.

You're counting ribs,
while I'm counting minutes
until you stop staring at
your skin-shrouded skeleton.

This isn't condensation,
little girl.
These are tears to
mourn your dying eyes.

Because surely you
must be blind if you can't
see how beautiful you were
before your addiction took hold.