The rooms are all primary color
now. Slow edges. Don’t
come back again, rough little
boots—sliding, gliding,
hauling the ground. Don’t
rummage through the noon
blue, as if a place could bloom
perennially and blood
red. Some moments
I left in the dark, some
left me in the dark-
room, burning and dodging
the moon. I have to stop
rearranging the furniture,
lung-gray and huffing.
I have to stop losing
little things: silver comb,
yellow sock, tiny opal
earring. Places won’t
go. Soft bird made her nest
in snow. Antiseptic
white. Close that door.
It already is. I could go
on. The hallways could too.
Elspeth Jensen
Elspeth Jensen earned her BA in Creative Writing from Western Washington University, and her MFA from George Mason University. Her writing can be found in journals such as The Bellevue Literary Review, The Journal, DIAGRAM, Fairy Tale Review, and elsewhere. In addition to reading and writing, she also loves animals, art, and miniatures.
Header artwork: “Night Lights,” photograph by contributor Lisa D’Adamo-Weinstein
Lisa D'Adamo-Weinstein
Lisa D'Adamo-Weinstein is a writer, photographer, and arts and media faculty member at SUNY Empire State University. Her work in both words and images is driven by a passion for storytelling and a deep connection to nature. In photography, She uses macro and bokeh techniques to explore the interplay of light and shadow, revealing overlooked details to create compelling visual narratives. As a writer, Lisa seeks out the unexpected, embracing the serendipity that helps her capture the unpredictable in her stories.
