Andi Leigh Writes

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Buried Hillside

on November 15, 2023

Red marigolds were her favorite.

Now they line her silent grave.

Buried with a flower crown—

Known to be quite brave.

She liked her coffee iced.

She hid her blues inside.

She spoke of getting better—

Now she's buried hillside.

i can picture the ghosts here

Checker Piece

There is a checker piece Lost on a chessboard, Playing a game it'll Never properly win, But it refuses to concede With confidence That it'll remain there Amongst the kings that Pertain to the goings-on Of the board.

Start Graying

There is a split in the ocean. There is a bee in my chest. I wonder when I'll start graying Since I always seem so stressed. There is a meal left out cold. There are no answers to this test. I constantly worry about the future, Wondering what will be next. There is a secret amongst them. There are too many oppressed. I don't think we'll be able to fix it. We all just seem to crave rest.

The Mess

There is legitimacy In our stolen time. We give our days to love, To wake up every morning With resistance to the Imminent despair that aims To leech off of our creativity. I see the love for freedom And the longing for taking Back what is ours—forever. Even after we are long gone, The mess we leave behind May be worth displaying.

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