there was no door to my room — just a way under an eave — leading to the bed — where you’d rarely find me — at the time — we all lived — in a continuation of — the same breath — a long sigh tethered to my parents — as they slept — at the time — the line between us hummed — and I tumbled drowsy — into the canyon between their bodies — at the time — I became — a swimmer in a river — drifting on a reflected sliver of the stars — in water so calm that one — forgets the danger — and then — from the ante-chamber of sleep — I marveled at how good it can be — to belong — even if my mother had turned away from — my father in the dark — even if they were facing the world — and not me — even if I was alone — when we were together — I knew that I warmed the space between
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Lucia O’Corozine is a Hudson Valley poet who has been writing since she was nine years old. Besides writing, she loves to draw, dance and rattle on about folktales. She can usually be found frantically trying to write ideas down before she forgets them. This is her first piece in Lightwood magazine.
Lightwood 