Poetry
By Magnolia Fay
- 97 reads
Doing yoga in my living room
Doing yoga in my living room the teacher and I, oceans apart (Literally, she is in Cambodia, Showing miles of beach and castles of foam) I struggle...
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- 170 reads
Come meet the women of my land
When I think of 'Island', the first thing I see is my island. My Sardinia. My land. And the women of my land. Our story and our geography. Our hands on the waist. Island to me means home.
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- 1260 reads
Stop the walk
A small poem about how tiring resistance can be.
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- 224 reads
War makes insomniacs and bad poetry
I woke up and 4 am last night, my stomach in a knot over the news of the last week. This poured out of me on the Notes app on my phone. I always turn to poetry when I'm anxious, I find it unfiltered and visceral. It's neither good nor reasoned, but that's okay, it's one of my best therapeutic tools.
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- 604 reads
Punctured day
I wrote this poem a couple of weeks ago during one of my blah days. Today I thought I'd share it: it is another blah day. Also, another day when the fact that my hair is clean and going swish is one of my few joys.
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- 123 reads
Changing spine
Family issues sometimes can inspire the weirdest images.
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- 140 reads
Ciao nonna
My grandma passed away last Friday. She was 99 and died peacefully in her bed after withering away slowly for the past two or three years. She had survived herself, and there was relief that she was free at last. However, we all feel older, lonelier, more vulnerable now. This, however tiny, is for her. And for my dad.
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- 1068 reads
I chose to bathe in light
I made a big mistake I didn't choose the tallest I didn't choose the fattest Your brothers joked on our wedding day I've replied over and over in my...
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- 158 reads
Rotting love
Sometimes the most mundane things can inspire poetry. In this case, it was a quince gone bad. The rot had a heart shape and I could not resist.
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- 62 reads