Sheila E. Murphy


She seemed nice
The server
Took our order
We sipped black coffee
Also quietly

Petals of flowers
Fell on the path
We looked at
Where they were
And lived there
For an hour


Impeccable morale
A sleek blue coat
As warm as milk.

Deportment, Application, Courtesy

Here’s a shovel
There’s the mulch
Plant the bulbs
Stay in your lane


She sleeps in
Her tall chair
In front of the TV
With language
Coming out of it
Not quite
Coming out of it.


After bright sunshine
Rain interrupts
The rooftops.


In the first place
He had nothing
To say
Then said something


He swiped the shoeshine cloth
From the hotel
And rubbed his head.

Formal Power

People having you over
On purpose
Not like this.


Names of the flowers
Missing from the sidewalk.


Here I am
In the middle of incessant rainlight
In love with
The inevitable
Soul between us.


Squint post-sleep
Clear coast
A tapestry
Of facts

I promise
To relax
Into imagination

Near a river
And the sweet
Divide of blue
And winter sky

Here comes eternity
Designed by us
To multiply
At will until

Sheila E. Murphy lives in Phoenix, Arizona, USA. In 2018, three new publications have emerged: Reporting Live From You Know Where (Meritage Press and xPress(Ed)), As If to Tempt the Diatonic Marvel from the Ivory (Broken Sleep Books), and Underscore (with K.S. Ernst, Luna Bisonte Prods).
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