Published in


That Would Ease The Mess


I think less of a hormone drop than I should — coming in waves like slow rising panic — domestic and mundane — an endless quest for dust and animal shed — it crests as exhaustion, mental static — mountain morning fog

the list grows — growls, in fact — Sundays on the last night of summer — I cannot hold the door — the flood, the levee, the forgotten rhythms of a season…



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Samantha Lazar

Poetry, fiction, and essays in celebration of being a Mom, Wife, Educator, Writer, & Lover of Life.