When Phantoms Sleep
Because I did see you last
on a street in Providence;
red bricks rising
in the gray air,
like Lovecraft snaring us
together in his smoky dream.
We were to walk together
in Lowell, in its columns of night.
We were.
That meeting still came to pass,
but in mist of words;
our stories always tell true.
Our story rewrites until waking,
but never waking.
That is who we are;
no shades cross between us,
we are the ones never waking.
Meg
Smith
Meg
Smith is a poet, journalist, dancer and events producer living in Lowell, Mass.
Her poetry has appeared or has been accepted to The Cafe Review, Star*Line,
Illumen, Pudding, Dreams & Nightmares, and more.
Tags:
Poetry