by Brittany West

To them we are shadows

That twist, turn and shout–

Fading black meadows

Of soul inside turned out.

Sometimes I go dumb,

Speech sits in my mouth,

It claws as an animal

And thrashes about.

To them in the meadows

That twist, turn and sprout–

Fading black souls

Of which outsides turn out.

The animal, a bass drum

Blasts beats in my mouth,

Brain waves incompatible,

Change travels about.

But to them we are shadows

That twist, turn and shout–

Fading black meadows

Of soul inside turned out.


Grandmother sat shotgun

Resting her elbow in the center,

And I sat behind her

Slunk on my back

In front of an open refrigerator door

As the cool escaped

Of its dust mouth.


Unfamiliar world passing by,

Untouched by memory,

A runaway bride

My curiosity long yearned to undress

Spiraling into the dark,

Though I would’ve tossed her sooner.


Be her a nun or a whore,

Is made homely by ownership,

As if hexed by a witch,

Her cotton candy magic

Curls in with the branches

Which thorn up and tear in.

With a sigh, I move along

But now it is quiet

With the absence of despair,

So I wind my hair in,

Turn to the side,

Curl in the curve of the magnet moon

And go along for the ride:

About The Author

LA County native Brittany D. West, otherwise known as Dani West, is a psychology student minoring in creative writing. The former college newspaper and magazine editor presently writes short stories, poetry, and is working on a novel. Her current goals are to obtain her Ph.D, start a non-profit and most relevantly, to never stop writing.

She currently lives in San Francisco, CA and attends City College of San Francisco.


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