Tag Archives: J. L. Smith

Hand-painted face like a Parisian mime, she sits on the shelf crumpled like a worn dress after a party gone wrong. Her make-up still perfect— because that’s what dolls are good for— but the hair is dusty from not seeing … Continue reading →

Your arm sliced the counter with precision. Two white cups fell upon your command, breaking into pieces, on the beige laminate floor. Your eyes paid no mind to them once they hit the floor, useless, collateral damage in our civil … Continue reading →

Three times my baby’s stroller passes by the dead baby sparrow on the sidewalk. I want to pick it up , but I know I can’t. J. L. Smith lives in Eagle River, Alaska, with her husband and young daughter. … Continue reading →

about desertion and hypocrisy, it was. Finally, a happy poem, she says, her eyes crinkled in a smile. My workshop mates groaned, although a few of them had remarked more or less the same. I had been a poet for … Continue reading →