Lane Falcon


You disappear under a clamor
of women, streets of dirty water
sudden with bells. You walk out
on the wood floor where you’ve lain,
the mirror tilted back in a film of dust,
the empty bassinette, and under their voices,
I lose you. I dream you tell me: backtrack,
the shutter lifts and your crisp
blue intelligence grips, one last time,
the handle of my grief.

Lane Falcon's poems can be found or are coming out in publications including The Chattahoochee Review, Rhino, The Cortland Review, and more. She won an award for poetry too long ago to mention by name. A single mother of two, one with special needs, she lives in Alexandria, Virginia.

Current | Archives    Submit | Masthead    Links | Donate   Contact | Sundress