there’s an angel, but with a sword
he’s talking about the weather,
how crazy kids are these days, but we’re not so crazy after all,
he’s still standing there, in your doorway,
rambling, even more so for a dead man or a spirit,
i’m only awake because i was too afraid to drink water
too afraid not to hold your hands in prayer while i slept,
even the dead take up space, and too much of our time,
who really knows what ghosts sound like?
or, if they’re ghosts at all? was it real? i don’t have enough days to answer.
A Wand with Your Name
what is something sweet? sweetheart,
tell me a life story – something overkill,
like pulpy flowers, over pollinated, sagging
petals, almost too tired to be used, something
honorable but almost forgotten.
my dead boyfriend stills follow me on instagram,
what did you ever do?
gemini connects in venus,
your stars are tainted.
you are a broken piece of glass:
Stephanie Athena Valente
lives in Brooklyn, NY. Her published works include Hotel Ghost, waiting for the end of the world, and Little Fang (Bottlecap Press, 2015-2019). She has work included in Reality Hands, TL;DR, and Cosmonauts Avenue. She is the associate editor at Yes, Poetry. Sometimes, she feels human.