Tara Teeling Poems

How strange it is to wake in a foreign land,
To try to spy the sameness here, as it was there.
Suddenly, nothing feels close, nothing in my acquaintance.
I look around and see things that should be familiar to me.
...

It’s after midnight,
and the snow is unmarred,
free from angels and stomping feet.
The flakes that fall are like
...

It may have been the long hair,
the way the honey-brown curls
undulated while he moved,
rubbing me in all the good places,
...

While staring at an innocent yellow wall,
I decide I want my first kiss back.
It was mine, and it was wasted
on a boy without a face.
...

I lie awake in the deep blues and soft creams
A long day, tucked in tight
Aching muscles, tight scalp, weary eyes
Requiem for consciousness undisturbed
...

On the roof, outside the window
are glare crusted humpbacked whales,
carved by the unforgiving wind of early March
as it pushed through the last breaths
...

Not everyone
is meant to be more
than ordinary, you say.
...

Blue nightgown, you’ve served me well.
With your delicate white flowers
and flirtation with maidenhood,
you gave me many nights
...

Your perfumed words and rose-petal theories
have long since lost their potency, as have you.
The wine has turned to water, and there is no
salt with which to tempt my tongue.
...

Sitting in the chair
with its threadbare bruises,
I am home. The earlier-crimson cushions
look bled dry, hosting the smells
...