a weekly of fantastical poetry





The Queen, After

by Sara Norja


I live for stolen dreams
and small white foxes.
What else is left? They took

my magic from me. The windows
of this tower bloom with ice,
but my foxes creep close, enfold me
in their fur. At night, the memories
come even closer. I shiver. I escape
into the dreams of others.



January 15th, 2017



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