Andi Leigh Writes

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Matcha

on December 09, 2023

Earthly green,

Grounded finely and

Delivered

To my cup.

Accompanied by

Oat milk crafted fresh

That morning.

Spoonfuls of sugar swirl,

Melting.

Whisked to smooth

Perfection.

i can picture the ghosts here

Checker Piece

There is a checker piece Lost on a chessboard, Playing a game it'll Never properly win, But it refuses to concede With confidence That it'll remain there Amongst the kings that Pertain to the goings-on Of the board.

Drifting News

The long night ends and the winds Call to me, warn me, That I am not yet awake enough For the chaotic voices Of the dreadful hours ahead. I do not think that sleep was able To take hold of me. I am a corpse. I thank the winds for their drifting News. Why must the night turn short When sleep does take hold?

The Mess

There is legitimacy In our stolen time. We give our days to love, To wake up every morning With resistance to the Imminent despair that aims To leech off of our creativity. I see the love for freedom And the longing for taking Back what is ours—forever. Even after we are long gone, The mess we leave behind May be worth displaying.

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