Contributor: JL Smith

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was beautiful.
Red, filled with flowers
you don’t normally receive.
Daisies mixed with lilies,
other flowers the florist
had on hand that day.

You touch them,
the lilies silk smooth
like a touch on a shaven cheek—
something you haven’t felt in so long.
Soft, like a child’s hand—
something else you haven’t felt in so long.

You know who they are from.
You know why you received them,
a celebration that comes on the 14th day,
but the sentiment felt odd
since love had grown cold,
fading,
ailing,
like the floral arrangement,
long after the feed packets are gone,
water is changed out,
its life cycle complete.

Faded,
discarded,
forgotten after its demise.


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JL Smith lives in Odenton, MD. She is the author of two books of poetry, Medusa, The Lost Daughter and Weathered Fragments, Weathered Souls.

Contributor: JL Smith

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Wet spring leaves fall from trees
weeping for three days.
Leaves I crushed,
walking in from the rain
that failed to clean me,
words drawn like swords
in last night’s duel still inside me.

Crushed,
like bay leaves on a wet counter,
they stick to my soles,
smearing pieces across the floor
long after the shoes were removed.

I tried to pick up the pieces,
but can’t, for what was crushed,
smeared,
is impossible to remove:
evidence I know I cannot hide;
evidence I know you will see.


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JL Smith lives in Odenton, MD. She is the author of two books of poetry, Medusa, The Lost Daughter and Weathered Fragments, Weathered Souls.

Contributor: JL Smith

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Salt filled air,
heavy with humidity,
holding it all together,
like a water heater blanket.

My composure firm,
as long as the seagulls’ cries
don’t remind me of tears,
dead starfish,
how one decision could have such a fatal cost,
how a lifeless jellyfish could foretell
a future of one who stayed too long
in the wrong place.

I stand in silence
waiting for you
and the high tide
to sweep it all away.


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JL Smith lives in Odenton, MD. She is the author of two books of poetry, Medusa, The Lost Daughter and Weathered Fragments, Weathered Souls.

Contributor: JL Smith

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Beach at low tide retreats
when I approach,
heavy with blistered feet,
trapped in sand wells
I dig with each step.

Seagull jumps,
dodging waves,
crashing in a dance,
screeching like he can argue
with something that threatens
to take the life out of him,
but he does it anyway,
because he knows no better.

Slap!
Comes the wave,
bringing him down for a minute.
He shakes it off,
does it again.

Slap!
Waves’ hands press down,
for a moment,
to prove they weren’t kidding,
before the final wave smacks him on his side.

Gulls shriek in the distance
as waves pass over him.
He fumbles on with battered feet,
forever broken,
as I watch it all,
knowing that I can’t save him.


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JL Smith lives in Odenton, MD. She is the author of two books of poetry, Medusa, The Lost Daughter and Weathered Fragments, Weathered Souls.