Wednesday 5 May 2021

1 Poem by L. R. Harvey


Spaghetti-stained and bottom-scratched

my tupperware and I.

Our lids don’t fit quite right,

our insides deflated, cold,

and somewhat clammy,

the fresh and heat

since dissipated into steam

that long ago went floating out

to somewhere we cannot seem

to find. Spin us around

to nuke our atoms from

the inside working out

and we will warm,

but do not be surprised

when something, still,

is never quite the way it was

the time the cook first set us on the table.  


L.R. Harvey writes and teaches in Chattanooga, T.N. A graduate of Covenant College, he holds his BA in English and his MA in teaching, and currently teaches high school English. His most recent work has appeared in Red Eft Review, Better Than Starbucks, The Write Launch, Light: A Journal of Photography and Poetry, The Road Not Taken, and more than a dozen others. He writes to provide a window into the Transcendent and a glimpse into the Mystery.

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