Thomas Sorensen

Sand-clamped crowns of eggshell break.
White shirts hang in rubble dusk.
Clouds rot in grass. Grey pears float past.
A grasp of home encloses all:
we thought we could stay whole this way.
Curtains rub dry, maw-robbed tongues.
We thought if we just sealed the doors—
frost restores our sheets’ worn thread counts.

Thomas Sorensen is a recent Ph.D. graduate from the University of Western Ontario. He is presently living as a sort of hermit on a lake in northwestern Ontario for his green card so he can join his husband in Salt Lake City. His work has been accepted to the ASP Bulletin, filling Station, The Los Angeles Review, The Dalhousie Review, and The Danforth Review, among other venues.

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