Laurinda Lind


After Adrienne


Embereyes
in the cramped
used body

steps out
to scald them
on her gaze.

The culpable 
keep their 
eyes far 

enough afield, 
all leave 
singed. 

Some
fortunate few 
still smolder.



Ragged


Six hours
in the car why
I can't concentrate 
I’m like a bouquet
of nerve endings or 
an open algorithm practicing 
its new number
such as forty
are you just tired someone 
says steering or 
is this how 
it is to hit half



Root Systems


In the season at its peak
the harvest is each other 
still subject to disaster, 
to the seed of the sun and 
what it becomes. A few 
moments only are safe 
below soil. The rest 
are the wine as it 
breathes in its bottle.

Laurinda Lind lives in the U.S. in New York’s North Country, next to Canada. Some of her writing is in Anomaly Literary Journal, Antithesis Journal, Bluepepper, Gone Lawn, Maintenant, Sonic Boom, and streetcake. She is a Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net nominee.

 
 

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