HERE by DANI SMOTRICH-BARR

I don’t understand
much of what you
are saying anymore
but I can sense
its somehow
more important
than what you said yesterday
although its just
murky somethings
brushstrokes buried in sand   

It’s like
the way
we used
to listen
to Amy Winehouse
stoned on the
roof in the sun
caring less about lyrics
than the motions of her voice
crackling out from
staticky speakers
onto exposed skin

You keep
telling me
to go back
to the city
but I don’t know
anymore
if I can

This town is
cold quiet empty
but at least
there is room
for a body,

room to lie down
in the grass,
to float even.


Dani Smotrich-Barr grew up in Ann Arbor, Michigan and is currently a senior at Wesleyan University studying English and History, writing for the Wesleyan Argus, and playing cello. You can find some of Dani‘s writing, photography and design work at https://dsmotrichbar.wixsite.com/dsbphotography.

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