Tuesday, 13 September 2022

Three Poems by Skaja Evens



In the Town Formerly Known as Torah

 

Three small bars

Two elementary schools

One Catholic church

 

Social capital mattered, but

My family didn’t attend church

So, we didn’t fit in

 

Walking to school was harrowing

Four blocks of unknown danger

Lots of hiding places for bullies

 

People kept their doors unlocked

Until JW was abducted

Free-wheeling childhood was over

 

Everyone’s business out in the open

Endless meddling and gossip

Your reputation precedes you

 

Moved to the big city

When I was seventeen

Relieved for the fresh start

 

 

Separating the Signal from the Noise


 

There’s some value in being alone

No one moves your stuff or steals the blanket when you sleep

But the voices in your head get louder

Until they settle down when you listen

 

Out in the world, everything is noise

People talking over each other in futile attempts to be heard

And no one ever paid attention to the man behind the curtain

Too busy doom scrolling social media, getting a fix

 

Too busy being palatable to the collective

Just so they won’t be voted off the island

Scared of being inside this moment

Unfiltered, raw, and real

 

 

Fall or Fly


 

It’s a pervasive thing

This insecure desperation to hold on

Clinging to anything to stop the free fall

 

I’ve been divesting myself of social comforts

That often felt more uncomfortable

Than learning how to be alone

 

Taught at a young age to fall in line

I didn’t learn to use my voice, until finding myself

In places where it was necessary

In order to survive

 

Maybe it takes losing the ground beneath me

To figure out how to fly




 

Skaja Evens is a writer and artist living in Southeast Virginia. She edits It Takes All Kinds, a litzine published by Mōtus Audāx Press. She’s been published in Spillwords Press, The Dope Fiend Daily, The Rye Whiskey Review, The Crossroads Lit Magazine, Blue Pepper, and Synchronized Chaos. She can often be found listening to music, considering the impossible, and enjoying her cats’ antics.


No comments:

Post a Comment

Five Poems by Ken Holland

    An Old Wives’ Tale     I’ve heard it said that hearsay   i sn’t admissible in trying to justify one’s life.     But my mother always sai...