Sunday Poems

Lizzy Co (she/they)

Fresh weekly memoir-poetry. Free verse, sonnets, villanelles. All names are changed. www.thelizzycoshow.com

  1. 22 FEB

    KISS THE FEET THAT FROZE

    Inspired by Nobody’s Girl and the recent arrest of Andrew Mountbatten-Windsor. KISS THE FEET THAT FROZE I had one myself: A cousin not really a cousin, A person who taught me that once a door closes It might not easily open, Not in my own time, anyway, But at some distant point on the line, I and those memories Both made their escape in the night. No one holds words in their teeth to respond to the story. It requires lines that folks wish didn’t exist, So they take time to assemble, Tumble out oddly, teetering, fumbling. Trained to be his humble helpmeet, Raised up in the glory of suffering, Good thing I contain multitudes, because There was never enough of me. What an absolute, glass-smashing disaster To rend the body of someone so small. Give me shards over hands, give me finding the fault, Give me something to keep me from punching a hole in the wall. Now, comes the part where I make the patented Lizzy Co positive twist, Take a left in the road to drop off the folks who don’t want to know, Reassure them that the world still has its mighty sunrise glow, And life contains its gifts. The souls who can stay Weren’t born that way. I bow to the people who rattled the same bars I had to, I kiss the feet that froze when they couldn’t run. I can barely behold you for blinking from brightness. Don't you understand what a lantern you've become? Your light burned away all the unlovely madness. It's not your fault you were the chosen one. Thank you so much for reading my work. See you next week. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit www.thelizzycoshow.com

    2 min
  2. 15 FEB

    THE NIGHT CAFE

    THE NIGHT CAFE Step inside the night cafe: It opens after dark. Baristas froth moon-lattes, And there’s lots of room to park. To pass on by the night cafe Would be a crying shame. Who wouldn’t want to be someplace Where people know your name? A special thing occurs when the stars rise. The doors to the cafe all come unlocked, But no matter how hard you squint your eyes, You won't spot the key-holder. (She’s a fox.) She’s not the only animal you’ll meet If you venture into the night cafe. This place is host to many gentle beasts: Slow-moving vegetarians...mostly. An octopus works four groupheads at once, Steaming the milk just-so as coffee pours. Here, the wait is short, and if your funds Are low, someone will spot you. (But, of course!) A lone wolf washes dishes in the back. In his case, the night cafe provides A bit of time and some space from the pack. He scours, rinses, wipes the cups bone-dry. Some strange hybrid of creature works the till, A thing all feathered, muscular, and free, Alive in the sunlight and counting bills. (That sweet, bizarre, lovely creature is me.) So won’t you come into the night cafe? The candlelight is bright enough for words. Have a seat, your drink is on the way. Your plate is brought to you by chirping birds. When you’re all done, just know you’re welcome back, Each evening, when the sun turns down its sheets. The night cafe will give you what you lack. The night cafe will meet your every need. Thank you for supporting my work. See you next week. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit www.thelizzycoshow.com

    2 min

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Fresh weekly memoir-poetry. Free verse, sonnets, villanelles. All names are changed. www.thelizzycoshow.com