Rylee Delaney
They, myself
not excluded, thought:
but surely I am
None,
not one
are the “other”
The hurricanes, the
earthquakes, several feet
from the other
All lusting,
a storming desire to
be the “other”
Together, a collective
petrified, shy, shying
from the other
Knowing, it’s possible,
impossible, to
be the “other”
They, myself
not excluded, thought:
but surely I am
The Tributary 