INTRO: these untitled pieces are from an in-progress but almost finished chapbook called “marbling,” which happens to be about absolutely fucking soul-crushing sorrow.

the gray days are the most difficult;
the days when nothing really feels
real – least of all you. it’s a different
kind of quiet, a different kind of cold
and both of them, piercing. time feels
viscous, it’s hard to move through so
you stay in bed most of the day to save
your energy, your strength. lotta gray
days ahead, you know. winter again.

december’s breath on the back of your

neck and you, baby born in a blizzard. 

time feels
viscous

in sixth grade they took you out of

science class and made you talk to the 

psychiatrist at school-based youth

services because you related too much

to the worn-down rock faces in the
erosion unit. you started crying quietly
and couldn’t seem to stop yourself.

but it wasn’t just canyons, plateaus. a worn spot of paint on something
touched frequently always hurt too.

Dani Tauber is a basket-case poet, professional ghost, former music journalist, and antiques archivist from NJ. She shares a room with more than 50 journals and several antique locks of hair. She doesn’t know what she’s mourning yet, but she’s beyond consolation.

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