Poems by Emily Walling

What happens to the ones I leave behind

is not for me to decide. I rid
them by gravity of a free-falling
white binder, and the cycle
turns over to the ones in the
shadows. They wait,
they stalk, they talk, they walk.


Before the door there is air,
after the door there is space.



Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s