When I crept out of

bed for work

you were so


I thought you had actually died.

As a garbage

truck roared by,

I wished

I could


wrap you in

my saffron


and carry you

every morning.

Or that I could transform

you into a cricket

to hear you

chat freely with

the dusk.


You said

you thought


wanted to live forever

with me,

so that we

could climb into

a spaceship and watch


fall apart.




it seems

in your paling

mind I’m daily

dulled with the ghost

light of the moon.

I don’t want to be


all I want to be

is your last rosy-fingered dawn.


by Mx. Glass


Mx. Glass recently graduated from the Creative Writing BA program at San Francisco State University. Her current project is to look at different modes of haunting in our society, such as myth, cultural norms, memory and language.

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