by Leah Jun Oh | Mar 28, 2022 | Featured, Poetry
Sundays at Grandma’s Gran’s best friend Susan came every, single Sunday. Whippet thin, I often thought she’d disappear into the vacuum of her own cheekbones, she sucked so hard on those fags. Each week we sat through the drag of Sunday Mass, the...
by Leah Jun Oh | Mar 27, 2022 | Featured, Poetry
Mother’s Day Wrapped in her silks the blue and the dim and the dark, mists of scent, eyes closed against the half-light. Together we walk squares and shades, beneath spires like washed bone. We walk together faded streets hand in hand, we mime....
by Leah Jun Oh | Mar 27, 2022 | Featured, Poetry
Melyn (Yellow) I still thank you for making the daffodils grow outside my mother’s house every spring scared she’ll forget you without reminders painted yellow spilling onto the block paved driveway the yellow trails into the house sits in a...
by Leah Jun Oh | Mar 26, 2022 | Featured, Poetry
Mud I’m a little girl wearing a floral dress and I jump straight into the muddy puddle I see before me. I am not even wearing wellington boots. I am unprepared for the dirt but I am sick of being ready for things. I want to talk my way out of the...
by Leah Jun Oh | Mar 25, 2022 | Featured, Poetry
Lighting Candles Odessa’s cemetery is a forest of granite, each grave with etched portraits. A football star rests by a famous burglar. We’re led to a few drab stones carved in Hebrew, rescued from the Jewish cemetery that was bulldozed for a...
