Strips of world uncurl in front of me
rolling outwards like a rug, a tongue.
It seems simple enough to fold
and tuck-up into nothing, into stillness
your spilling hills, green against the dark
I have wrapped my reasons in
my want that blunts and blooms
while you move loose like fire
sure, fire. The life that ignites
flickers too, finds you alone
your body bent against the ledge
peeling back from black glass.
Lindsey Sarah Swanson grew up and currently resides in Boston, MA. She studied English Literature and Economics at Wake Forest University, with a focus on poetry under the mentorship of Irish poet Conor O'Callaghan. In 2007 she won the annual Franklin and Marshall Whitesell Prize for her creative essay speculating about Richard Nixon's relationship with senatorial opponent Helen Douglas. In 2010 Lindsey started her own fund, Women and Children Project India to alleviate poverty in the slums of Northern India. She recently returned from a year of doing Microfinance work in rural Nepal. In addition to poetry, she writes short fiction, creative non-fiction, health/nutrition articles, blogs, and comedic essays.
