I’ve been talking to her all morning,
the dead woman,
wandering
back and forth across soft-edged pages,
stretched beneath the slowly
shifting patch
of sun, and I read a line wrong,
so now it’s my line, and
I’ll never tell
you what it is; not written
by her hand but written
in a stray thread of thought
which moved across the written line
just a breath
out of time.
***
Sidney Dritz is (currently, constantly) reevaluating what to do with the rest of her life. Recent poetry publications include Janus Literary and issue 3 of Worms, and she writes about movies and television monthly at @dailydrunkmag. Follow her work as it develops on twitter at @sidneydritz.
***
image: Peter Gutierrez
Rejection Letters 