Laurinda Lind
Close Enough
My name isn’t Laurabut I answer anywaythe more aliasesthe better
Naming blame the game the boyfriendfrom my 30s brought alonglike a bet or a balance as eachitch of ill fortuneneeds its own name & that’sthe shrubbery in which he was raised still I stayed butI'll spend lessthan 2 seconds on that crap sinceI'm the last frontierof no-fault oh something will happenit always does & will I say yes to the wringingto an easy rage will I carve it like a crucifix to the centerof my chest no I won’t
On Arrival Rolling awayroad by road eventually we runout of other places & pull over atthe prairie where we have never beenwhere they have never had us so they aretender with us & we try toward them,their swamps are a city of bridges,the mayors famous among themselves,we sleep on their floors but we don’tdo it well & after we have filled withthe flat of the land, they seem so gladthat we are gone
Laurinda Lind quarantines in New York’s North Country. Some publications/ acceptances are in Blue Earth Review, New American Writing, Paterson Literary Review, and Spillway; also in anthologies What I Hear When Not Listening: Best of The Poetry Shack & Fiction, Vol. I (Sonic Boom), and Civilization in Crisis (FootHills Publishing). She is a Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net nominee.
My name isn’t Laurabut I answer anywaythe more aliasesthe better
Naming blame the game the boyfriendfrom my 30s brought alonglike a bet or a balance as eachitch of ill fortuneneeds its own name & that’sthe shrubbery in which he was raised still I stayed butI'll spend lessthan 2 seconds on that crap sinceI'm the last frontierof no-fault oh something will happenit always does & will I say yes to the wringingto an easy rage will I carve it like a crucifix to the centerof my chest no I won’t
On Arrival Rolling awayroad by road eventually we runout of other places & pull over atthe prairie where we have never beenwhere they have never had us so they aretender with us & we try toward them,their swamps are a city of bridges,the mayors famous among themselves,we sleep on their floors but we don’tdo it well & after we have filled withthe flat of the land, they seem so gladthat we are gone
Laurinda Lind quarantines in New York’s North Country. Some publications/ acceptances are in Blue Earth Review, New American Writing, Paterson Literary Review, and Spillway; also in anthologies What I Hear When Not Listening: Best of The Poetry Shack & Fiction, Vol. I (Sonic Boom), and Civilization in Crisis (FootHills Publishing). She is a Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net nominee.