Talia Reed |
||
Opera a dreaming that keeps feeling, how tender in our own operas we see them in their always we lay on this threshold; You were saying, after the lights burn out We’re still sleeping in the last burial. We’ve lost our sense of color; blood red poppy
Schism All of you misty ghosts Hair sweeping the air. Among the eerie hum My fellow theatre props, I beg of you: And when I’ve built my empire,
Through Beneath those virulent sores you’re stranded. then the baptismal waters throw A sword goes after and consumes. I try to place where the tangible And where we’re not always being so thick when that was the time for that and put on my old clothes.
|
||
Talia Reed is currently spending her final semester at Indiana University South Bend as a student-teacher in an American high school classroom teaching The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn and Macbeth. At IU South Bend Talia edited the 2007 literary magazine Analecta and currently writes book and art reviews for the student paper The Preface. She has also recently been added to the reveiwing staff of MiPoesias Magazine. Her poems have appeared in Wicked Alice, Main Street Rag, The Tusculum Review, and forthcoming from Avatar Review. |
||