April 14, 2019

April 14, 2019


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Two Poems

by Seneca Basoalto


North

There was a farmhouse on the edge of the road

we were lost on

I fell in love, and it followed me everywhere;
bottle of milk and ivy stone, midnight cheeks
bred from oak - sometimes maple filled like
pancakes on the crest of your belly,
Buick backfire pine that scrubs you every August
Dry breathing, six lakes, a wilderness that probably
doesn’t exist anymore I travel west
to escape the north I could never appreciate without you
I’d move back...for the first time
I’d pick a house that felt like kin
I’d smell of rotten, wet, old, and brave
and live in lament with no one
but your ghost

Spilt Milk

Resisting the urge to cry over skin that tasted like spilt milk,
a breath heavier than the heart heaving seven flights of stairs,
a man that was a compass of full moon belly, & a long road

I found him again in my dream // I think
he’s trying to come back to a realm that’s offended by longevity,
a world trying to erase whatever it was that he was to me

 


Seneca Basoalto is a Psychology graduate with two decades of involvement in published creative writing. Having a background in the backstage music/movie scene – she's adapted her unusual experiences to fuel her insightful writings. Seneca's Spanish Iberian lineage and audacious bisexuality can be seen influencing the attitude and magnetism of her diverse range of work.

Some of her works include poetry collections published through Terror House Magazine, Glasgow Review of Books, Words Dance, Breadcrumbs Magazine, North of Oxford, and Pamplemousse.

Currently she is a submission reader for Frontier Poetry.