Poetry by Leah Holleran

Schedule of Obscure Wishes

By Leah Holleran

Each morning I hang from the roof All pointed toes and knobbly knuckles Insisting that my spine stretch Inch by inch Into fulfilling the wish That I could grow tall enough To have my feet on the ground and my head in the clouds.

I wish to be the rain

Morphing eternal, non-stalgic and scabulous Making pavement smell like summer So I roll in the grass To absorb the earth and

sprout daffodils from my femur, clover from my clavical So I too can spring eternal.

I brush my teeth with torn pages of the dictionary so I can spit words of wisdom and eat pages of holy texts so the spirit will flow through me

when I fall asleep I tape one eyelid open left one night right the next and I tie my hair to the sides

in case I finally grow eyes in the back of my head.

Then each morning I do it all again.

Hope.

In the Dark By Leah Holleran

By moonlight Walk our shadow selves The ones we hide away The ones we pretend are not there Though they are always here Carrying eternal night on their backs Telling us, though we don’t listen, Not to be afraid. They are eyeless But sense everything through their skin: The moonlight, like little pinpricks of Gentle silver And the orb of the moon overhead Changing its dress in slow motion And always pulling. Our shadow selves celebrate the pull. They dance. They cry out in freedom, or for freedom We cannot tell which For we are never listening. Some of them are afraid, and lonely. Some of them are angry, and lonely. Some of them are proud, and careless. And lonely. All of them are us And sometimes When I glance up at the moon Dressed in full I think I catch Out of the corner of my eye A flit of shadow And when it touches me I feel Pinpricks of silver on my skin And I can see forever.

but what is the past, really? By Leah Holleran

Time sticks to me like clothes of honey So that naked is only a memory. I adorn myself with memories now, a child playing dress-up with a box full of moments, wearing them like grandmother’s pearls. I have been advised that the moments of my life are all around me, always, falling like rain So I play pretend that I can keep them each tucked away on their own in a jewelry box instead of colliding with my skin and disappearing into the deluge, or mixing with the honey of time.

Leah Holleran (she/her) is a fiction and poetry writer, and an avid lover of all types of storytelling. As a professional performer, she has written and toured new shows across the U.S. and abroad, and works as a freelance teaching artist. She is the co-founder of a local writing group, and of traveling puppet company Wandering Theatre (https://thedragonandthewanderer.com/) with her husband Aaron Roberge. She identifies as a queer atheist Jew who loves circus aerials and D&D and Irish coffee and adventure. Her writing can be found at Second Chance Lit, OC87 Recovery Diaries, and on Twitter @LeahHolleran and Instagram @leah_holler.