Author Archives: Krysia Jopek

You should float in the sea to heal your open wounds. Avoid the stretcher with the body that can’t surf air. Salt gives the mouth more room. The shrinking door or floor. It’s hard to say. When fire takes down … Continue reading →

The wind warned demise. Side events drop the hardwood floor with winding banisters. The canvas of sky and its pendant of sun dissipate dread for a weekend. You should look away when the sports car crunches the guard rail. Chinese … Continue reading →

The last day of summer took the hero down. When you stop believing in things, you become free. Over-ripe grape and cherry tomatoes lose the rotting trellis. On the stone marking incremental bloodshed, I sat with a paring knife to … Continue reading →

The night of handsome stars dishevels faint moonlight. We were encroaching answers while better questions wrote decisively on missing green stones. All our wrongs drown in September’s river rush, somewhere pooled with strange kindness. Unfortunate misdemeanors muddled plans to take … Continue reading →

Darkness lifts the wake of dreams. The broken narratives untangle in small-window sunlight. The boat left in the snow next winter harbors blackbirds you can count on two cold hands. Let’s say the scars on your face shall heal. The … Continue reading →

To think about not thinking about the mourning doves was still thinking about them. So still in the backyard, talking of sorrow. We had been navigating through childhood neighborhoods to rescue magnolias. Driving diagonally through crisscrossed streets for a new … Continue reading →

Winter froze violins under the lake in eighth notes. Sheet music mocking ancient heroes too tired to navigate Thursday. Proclamations became frozen birds in a reel of forgetting that the moon mourned lost footprints. The children hoarded magic under porch … Continue reading →

It was more difficult when others watched the inevitable splintering. Other times, being unseen for too long was dangerous. When all was said and done, the finish line might be cursory illusion. The start gate, after all, had been jarring, … Continue reading →

The news loops and re-loops until tomorrow’s loop loops the next tomorrow. We are cloning light blue beaded swallowtails before frost settles in. The storm windows are winning us in light only painters can manipulate. Words are trite in the … Continue reading →

I swept the sun from the garage floor because everything hurt in reverse, and I couldn’t climb up to catch the autumn leaves as if someone were listening. No one shows up for the conversation about Monday mediocrity at the … Continue reading →