by Romina Ramos The phone box smelt of dampand it reminded me of youand the rain seeping through reminded me of the leak in your old shed, that leaked onour heads, and of late nights sat there with torches and cigarettesin those broken laundry basketswaiting for the clothes to dry. They were always still a… Continue reading Damp

Metaphors for falling in love

by Romina Ramos My girlfriend is not a poetbut without me she saysshe feels like an uncut footlong subokay but a little awkward and messy.The kind that falls apart in your hands. She says why don’t you writeabout me? It’s not that easy.I tell her poetry is my therapistsits across the room, one fingeron its… Continue reading Metaphors for falling in love

The One Where she watches it, and laughs

by Romina Ramos It took so long I thought we wouldnever make it past season one.       When she said I’m not sure, it’s notthat funny, I decided then, on our first date that she would be the Chandlerto my Monica, which is to say that by season three, when she finally laughsat all the right… Continue reading The One Where she watches it, and laughs


by Romina Ramos She was all mandalas and peacesigns, the kind of girl you would finddancing on the graves of society. She was recreational and free,the kind of song you dance to whenyou need release. She was euphoria. She was all pierced tongue and piercingeyes. Had the type of mind that goes onfor miles. She… Continue reading Trouble

Changing Seasons

Changing Seasonsby Romina Ramos In a city where every day is a miserableDecember evening, she is July. She does to mewhat summer does to strawberry fields. She is hot coffee on a crisp autumn morning,with each calculated sip first Ulysses then Morphosand Monarchs form a kaleidoscope inside me. She is spring because her laugh is… Continue reading Changing Seasons

My Father Was An Athlete

Writer’s Note: this poem was originally published in the August 2021 ‘Family’ issue of PopShot magazine. My Father Was An Athlete He ran out of the maternity ward so fast,that he got to the finish line beforeI even opened my eyes for the first time. And every man that came after himTreat us like it… Continue reading My Father Was An Athlete