Sarah Lilius (she/her) is the author of the poetry collection, Dirty Words (Indie Blu(e) Publishing, 2021) and six chapbooks including, GIRL (dancing girl press, 2017) and Traffic Girl (Ghost City Press, 2020). Some of her publications include Boulevard, the Massachusetts Review, and New South.
July 23, 2025
Sarah Lilius
My enlightenment phase is put on hold
Fog numbs, my surroundings, my skin, a serpent’s dumb music
My mind, a clear stale, passes around circles of apathetic teenagers
Legs bump, bruise twists, damage of an empty hourglass
Translucent, my delicate palms, two attachments
Fingers without symmetry, the bend count is off
I push softness around Virginian interstate
I am lesser
I prove myself to no one
Elusive wish, phases push into the upstairs cauldron
Round and rough weight, the busy emotion of a fire moon
Orphaned in America, not one replacement answered my online ad for parental affection
My hurt is strong and ancient
Stretch me, place my skintight across eight hundred miles
Who’s offended when I plead to turn the music off
I would like to sleep
Glass: A Journal of Poetry is published weekly by Glass Poetry Press.
All contents © the author.