The First Day We Met

 

She found words running loose in the Strand,
fit them for goofy hats
corralled them into a corner
and conducted them into photographs.

 

She knew how to assemble them.

You kiss like you are,

she whispered
as I sat stumped on eight across,

You’re vulnerable,

Then you’re not.

 

If Love Felt Like the Water Cycle

Drift out the window
Land in a puddle of silk
Float skyward, unbound.

 

I’ll Be

I wish that my jealousy
Would stagnate like a dammed river.
Instead,
Jealousy rages on—swelling, overcoming.
While the only damned thing
is me.

 

 

Tiffany Firebaugh is a freelance writer and poet, but by day she works in the non-profit sector. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Rogue Agent Journal and The Fem. If you like, you can follow her on twitter at @tifficaltiff.