POEMS by Tania J. Spencer

Three loves

I
You text me from
the foothills of the Himalayas
picturesque
remote
full of litter,
still.

II
Sometimes I still
feel the sweep of this
beacon. Not you, as much
as the love; not the cowrie
as much as the sea.

III
And you.
Your quietness turned
into children.

 

Things we keep

Walking in the dark,
between other people’s
houses once I heard
a puppy beaten softly,
to death. Its squeals
popped off
like buttons
and rolled
across the floor,
towards me.
Sometimes, I
still count them.

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