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Avalon
  • Home
  • Spring 2025
    • Poetry
      • A Soulmate
      • All the Globe's a Stage
      • At The Water's Edge
      • Big Sisters
      • Cotton-Stuffed Heart
      • Doom, Sleep, Mastication, and My Godson Jeremiah
      • Foolish Lemons
      • I Know Icarus
      • nightstand as self-portrait
      • one thousand three hundred and eighty-eight days
      • Pasiphaë
      • Poem for a Stranger
      • Pilot of the Hollow Vessel
      • Rehoming; or, a habitat for creatures who seek darkness and cold
      • Sanctuary
      • The World Inside a Sidewalk Crack
      • Year of the Frog
      • you think it's easy opening doors in january?
      • Your Haiku
    • Fiction & Plays
      • Calculated Sympathy
      • Indigo
      • Maurice
      • The Cradle
      • The Hollow Room
    • Visual Art
      • A Farmer in Vinales Cuba
      • A Tobacco Farmer in Viñales, Cuba
      • Thank you, please come again
      • Self Reflective Self Portrait 5
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        • Foolish Lemons
        • I Know Icarus
        • nightstand as self-portrait
        • one thousand three hundred and eighty-eight days
        • Pasiphaë
        • Poem for a Stranger
        • Pilot of the Hollow Vessel
        • Rehoming; or, a habitat for creatures who seek darkness and cold
        • Sanctuary
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        • Year of the Frog
        • you think it's easy opening doors in january?
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        • Maurice
        • The Cradle
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Spring 2024    Poetry 

tantrum of the modern narcissus

Juliette Brookman

you cover your windows in cardboard,

flattened boxes that block the light.

i ask why,

but you are furious.

 

you complain about the sun

and the heat and the mess

your roommate makes

and the clutter in your head.

 

i agree, not wanting

to make you angry again.

it’s easier to just agree.

someday i’ll be on your side.

 

someday i’ll be convinced

that you’re always right

and that any thought otherwise

ought to be buried and snuffed out.

 

you ignore the dishwasher

so that you have

a burdensome chore

to whine about.

 

my pity stretches to you.

my attention is yours,

my tears and coweress

are derivative of your blood in my veins.

 

you act like a child,

the way you beg for attention,

the way you always need your way.

never thought i’d have to start

babysitting this young.


Aerials

Apple Darling

artificiality doesn't live here

Blossom From This Microcosm

Bump's Front Porch

Deforestation

Glass Flesh

Grenadine Song

His Side

Lunch Break

Nexus

play your part, old man

Raptora

tantrum of the modern narcissus

The Lake

Trifled

Trimmed with Ribbons

Zazen at Paterson Falls

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