ruby-throat—Lora Robinson

when you are the only light 
on the highway, I hope 
you feel my spindle 

fingers twisted in 
your curls, remember 
spiders on your neck

weaving wicked tapestries, 
my voice crackling like 
our pipes in winter.

on the coldest nights
clutch your hands,
your chest- do you remember 

milk and honey, naked and
spread over crimson sheets, frayed 
nails dredging the bays of your back, 

nicotine-stained and brackish because 
I could not bear another night 
drunk. alone. 

read my poems, hung on the walls 
like epitaphs- board up the windows 
and doors, build a mausoleum

visit when you need to remember 
a jeweled hummer fluttering on 
your porch in fading sunsets, fireflies 

beating on glass and wood. 
remember the days you forgot
to feed the wilting orchids-

how you let them die.

Lora Robinson is a Minneapolis-based poet, nonfiction writer and cat-mom to Shark and Thea. Her poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in Superfroot, Sad Girls Club and Ethel Zine, among others. Her first poetry chapbook will be published in 2021 by akinoga press. Connect with her on Instagram @theblondeprive and Twitter @starsinmyteeth

photo by Anton Darius (via unsplash)