Poetry from Lorelei Bacht

Photo: Milada Vigerova

define joy.

when all the work of suffering is done.

when the warrior fallen, consumed,
when bone returned to sand.

when a photograph is just that—
a photograph.

when the blade is rusted, broken,

the scissors lost amidst the daffodils,
trampled into the mud of a few springs

ago. when what am I doing.

when the throat hoarse, the wifely voice
done with booming. when not a single

choice in sight. when running out
of sodium light and uncertain about

the existence of doors. does one ever?

when finally sitting. when done
with trial and error. when no longer

trying.                              then joy.

like fingers, unclasping.
.

.
Lorelei Bacht (she/they) successfully escaped grey skies and red buses to live and write somewhere in the monsoon forest. Their recent writing has appeared and/or is forthcoming in After the Pause, Harpy Hybrid Review, The Inflectionist Review, Beir Bua, Mercurius, Strukturriss, The Inflectionist Review, Sinking City, and others. They are also on Instagram: @lorelei.bacht.writer and on Twitter @bachtlorelei.