and when the dust had settled
when the chimes of autumn
were laid to rest
in its concrete sailboat
i rid myself of brittle & barrier
of skeleton man who runs
w/o heart
gone
like its had-been flesh
i slowly position my head
on a pillow
in a dark room
head heavy as an anchor
that was spared into an ocean
by a God
who set apart
sleep as redemption
for a sinner
About the author
Tonya Ingram is a New York University alumna, a Cincinnati native, a Bronx-bred introvert, and a soon-to-be Los Angeles flower-child. Her work has traveled…
Read the full bioIssue 18 · June 2013
Table of contents
- From the editors
- Poetry
- Postcard Prose
- Travel Notes
More from The Journal
- Postcard Prose
By Kory Wells
The local tour guide believes in leather boots with wide toes. Sturdy
soles. Protein for breakfast.
- Postcard Prose
By Kimberly Ramos
The young sailor said he would give me a modicum of love if I let him use my body as a harbor.
- Postcard Prose
By Kory Wells
The ticket seller would prefer to meet the guests outside, order them shortest to tallest, take the most boisterous by the hand.
- Poetry
The skull-like villa lost /
in a garden of dreams, /
so seem the isle’s cimitero: ...
- Visual Poetry
By Jason Warren
So here is the brief life / of men: what follows / went before of / that we know / nothing
- Visual Poetry
By Sarah J. Sloat
Mixed media
See more Poetry, Visual Poetry, or Postcard Prose
