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Poetry, Lauren Sims

Tread lightly, as not to wake the little details

they don't like it when you stare

In those younger days,

a woman with soft hair

like woven thread between my fingers

and my sister’s eyes

told me not to stare at the sun

Squinty eyed and open mouthed

I found no reason not to

These days,

the arms of another fold into my skin

like a stranger

pried off tomatoes on the vine

Sweet acidity,

the ceremony of it all

Polite farewells and a fistful of phrases I’ve collected on my way

I keep a pinch of salt in my pockets

just in case I don’t like the taste of a stranger on my tongue,

and to find my words better than they left me


Lauren Sims is a 21-year-old amateur poet living in Chicago. She has been writing poems and stories for as long as she can remember, but it wasn’t until this year that she really started taking her writing seriously. This September she released her first zine titled “The Birds” which is a collection of nine poems. The collection, as a whole, is heavily influenced by the natural world, the concept of change, and memories of childhood. “Salt” is from the collection.


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