Tag Archives: Sandra Ketcham

Muse

Your pencil lead punctures the liquid silver stars. They leak inspiration on bald branches of dogwood trees. It collects in puddles on thirsty ground, too cold for bare ink. Sandra Ketcham currently lives in Orlando, where she works as a … Continue reading

Posted in Poetry | Tagged | Leave a comment

Suburbia

In suburbia the wind reaches, restless and random. Roads in monotone gray-black, potholes every three yards, flecks of white on the road’s edge, yellow tape holding it all together. Howls crowd in from every direction. Sweating houses stir when the … Continue reading

Posted in Poetry | Tagged | 1 Comment

Pinot Noir

Winter performance night blooms in- to a midnight masquerade of Moonflowers & melo- drama Your wine spills & seeps spoiling my      skin polka drops of pinot noir       they (we)       find a longer hallway & our pirouette slows Dawn forms as the … Continue reading

Posted in Poetry | Tagged | Leave a comment

Spring Forward

It’s still too early when you wake, combing your tangled rays straight. Your yawn licks my legs like thistle, like thermic pinprick kisses. My skin shrinks back, escapes into a pile of cotton & when I emerge warm, & wanting, … Continue reading

Posted in Poetry | Tagged | 1 Comment

Station

choked, enclosed by glass and chrome apathetic eyes, eclipsed moments pass—unrecorded morning light filters in through an unopened window gradually thawing my skin & summoning memories linked like an unraveling army of paper dolls footsteps on gravel dampened voices & … Continue reading

Posted in Poetry | Tagged | Leave a comment