by Theresa Edwards

The folds in her hands, church pamphlets, every figment

set in the old balcony’s smell, her father’s smell when he

sleeps too long in the back bedroom, back to the opening

which begins stairs, those folds of wood grinding time down

to nonexistence, pointed structure gone from wind, dirty

bed sheets folded like prayers.

-refers from the word “folds” in Laura McCullough’s poem Longing

  1. Theresa, this was a wonderful poem. I loved the progression as it unfolded . . .:)

  2. The image of the stairs folding, like I’d always known it but not in those words. Great job!

  3. Thanks so much for reading, Debbie and Annmarie! Maybe you could write in response to a word or phrase from the poem???? Keep the poetic progression going? Would love to see what you come up with. Love the inspiration of this mag. Props to Jessie!

  4. It is funny to watch how the referrals come in. Sometimes I have immediate referrals and then other times I find people are still referring to pieces published a year ago in our archives. Just love how that works!

  5. That last line – “bed sheets folded like prayers” – is tender and fierce…. wow…just lovely.


  6. Thank you so much for reading, D, and for your kind words. Did you submit some of your work to Referential yet? Hope so!

    Peace and Onward…..

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