Andi Leigh Writes

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Bluesky

Oatleaf Poetry Magazine

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.

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.

Regular Strangers

Let's turn in for the night And disappear into a sphere— One of our own design, Where we can be weird and Talk about our work encounters With regular strangers. We'll laugh and no one will Hear—they're not allowed in. It is our night and our own Sphere of unwinding.

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