Sunday 5 February 2023

Five Poems by Nolcha Fox


Everything moves


from crib to sleigh to coffin.

We pretend that life is still,

prove it with our photos.

We must pretend or risk the fear

of falling off the edge of time.

Time moves, too, before the

moment we are born past

last breath, last blink of our eyes.

We grab the sides to keep our place,

but place is space that hurls us out

to who-knows-where, and how

we land is anybody’s guess.


Make a space


to store dark hours.

Toss a match to

watch them spark

and scorch the

moonlight, burn

a hole through

hints of sunrise.


Grief is a wilted


corsage pinned to my chest.

It doesn’t match my sweater,

but it goes with my smile.


Stay in place


to downsize time, to keep the strings

of Christmas lights from lengthening

to drape the eaves expanding into

endless rooms that never fit the 

sofa that I bring from home to home.


Twelve Months 


I woke up to a year of no regrets,

except to regret a year 

is only twelve months.


A year is only twelve months, except

for regrets that bleed. I woke up

to a year that should have lasted longer.


You have been gone a year. I shouldn’t

regret waking up to your absence. I can’t stop

the bleeding from twelve months without you. 


Nolcha Fox - Nolcha’s poems have been published in Lothlorien Poetry Journal, Alien Buddha Zine, Medusa’s Kitchen, and others. Her three chapbooks are available on Amazon. Nominee for 2023 Best of The Net. Editor for Kiss My Poetry and for Open Arts Forum. Accidental interviewer/reviewer. Faker of fake news.


“My Father’s Ghost Hates Cats”

“The Big Unda” 

“How to Get Me Up in the Morning”




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