Syrup
Where I live
Ants find any sweetness.
They found my honey
And I stayed up one night
Picking hundreds of tiny black bodies
From the gold.
This is love,
A dim-hour-discipline
Fingers dipped in death
And syrup.
Confession
How much
I miss touch
And try not to
At the show
I let the drunk girl
Lean into me
She is slow and thoughtless
Like a beam of light
Shifting across the floor
The weight of her
Is meaningless
And warm
Left Alone
I stood in the dark
waiting for the water to boil
and by the little orange light
of the electric kettle
I dipped my spoon
over and over
into the honey
Sequoia LeBreux was born and raised in western Massachusetts. She is currently studying herbal medicine in Vermont. Her work is upcoming in the Jabberwock Review.
