Dolly

Waiting for the train, an ordinary day, late, sometimes it’s hard to pray, the Loco is shining steel, gone half past eight, does anyone care how she feels, she makes the glass dilate, a cool yet burning rage, the carriage window the same, who writes the deeds, to make everything great, make somethings seem real, she’ll take the blame, . there is still a heartbeat, from yesterday’s shame, she's going to leave, her face shows the strain, she’ll give no signal, there is no need.

Beatty

She pinned a shamrock on us, as if books were our passport, the ones from the Orphanage, like a schooner puts on sail, puffed her cheeks an instant, dreamed for all our tales, made us Inquisitive, when winds froze our compass, furious declarations at Christmas, at the parties on Atlantic parade, Brooklyn holds a steamy closeness, jellies, anniversaries, men in shades, she died reading the Cantos, listening to Paul Simon, her shiny page folded Catechus, Homeward Bound quoting our names, we revered her just glory, our dollars and fancy trades, each bridge an open door.

Chrissy Jones

Alone at the bus station, you ask for a smoke, is that you that patient, you the prodigal daughter, now in a white coat, once so full of laughter, we thought you’d made it, you always went for broke, said the love we trade, is all that matters, even if your kingdom’s spoken, your clothes tattered, you gave us all away, in the manner of your jokes, even drunk on the pavement, your dark glasses won’t shatter, tell them that your hosts, your soul is the river, a red letter fragrance, you’re as beautiful to know, still just as elegant, you’ll ride this blow.

Adriana

Teresa d'Avila has said, a tiny drop of blood, does not bring death, not in the broken sky, nor for your own good, just let it pass by, suns moons and the rest, will bring you no ruin, closer to the test, for ones who seek lullaby, imagine each flower in bloom, see how time’s a butterfly, if that makes sense, yellow sand or tidal flood, always do your best, orange flares the waterline, your house is still stood, songs might make you cry, rejoice before the dust.

Zee

Men who need to love again, eat calf's liver and greens, nibble at succulent entrée’s, my Nana used to cobble stew, on stoves where I would keep, charms in the house that bore you, they make lovely women vain, their orange suns are sweet, white hotels glisten and sway, Nana used to walk the Brew, my Ma’s Bath House sweeping, steaming Copper’s iron tubed, faces shrouded cold as icons, these men do all the speaking, women if important to pursue, expensive designs golden maze, they won’t seek your ease, rich old guys at Cafe’ museums, want only wine and trophy.

Valentina

You didn’t want my coffee, why so hard to break, the lies I constantly feed, wipe my tears, turn a cheek, make all the wrong arrangements, why are you so sweet, you'd gamble anything, including our days, outside a calendar sheet, your Ma crawled from Sicily, to Naples in her day, for heaven on her knees, am I lucky or just weak, seeing a life in your gaze, oranges and uncertainty, you always try to please, I’m cigarette smoking grey, maybe yours is inner ease, I’ve never been that way.

Wenna

Do you catch your breath, before the sea, wondering what is left, remembering news reports, pertaining to your family, littered all over the Court, in dusty boxes spread, they danced on our street, that one of your friend, the Trucker whom he fought, mother's words now hush be, No inquests at our door,, looking after, time shreds, sepia colours in Terylene, minor demeanours without end, pressed shirts reposed, they were merchant marine, ocean waves and houses bought, across my history.