I wrote this based on a conversation I had with a cool fellow poet after Poets’ Monday last week.

“fog kisses”

the lake visits me and gives me little fog kisses
as she’s been doing since before the house
reached out its unforgiving arms and swallowed me
they caress my skin and turn
the street lights into stage lights
every turn on the drive home is a perfectly framed
work of art

I once called her my wife many years ago
when I had a different name, a different life,
practically a different face
when every nerve from
my neck to my hands screamed pain and
fatigue
I was angrier then, I think, to keep myself alive
but the rage served its purpose
that name served its purpose
as did that life and that house
but I never stopped loving that lake

I’m still here, sifting through the remainder of
what was left behind when I found her
where do I go now?
how do I leave the wrath behind when it’s seared
itself into every cell in my body?
she’s more home
than my own skin…

-Allēna 10/22/2025