1 Poem by Lauren Michaels

Wet pavements
Even oil slicks.
Those dirty grey-black pains.
Have hidden things.

And they make
Hollow sounds with them.

Grey clouds
That seem lower
Than the atmosphere allows
Have endings

And they move
Slowly towards them.

And even bodies
Mind filled and
Aching with choice and loss
Have conditions

And they bend
Heavily under them

Maybe I'm just tired.
Maybe we're all just a little worn out
Worn down. Maybe I'm just tired.