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
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Speaking in Tongues
by Romina Ramos When I say I’m cleaningwhat I mean is there is whiskeypouring from my pores, the stale stenchof bad decisions clings to my hair like old cigarette smoke. When I say I’m doing laundrywhat I mean is there have been pilesof neatly folded mistakes purring at the footof the bed for weeks now… Continue reading Speaking in Tongues
Dear Ma
by Romina Ramos You once wrote that I am like a chairnot comfortable but strong and supportive. If I am so it is because you taught meto make my own seat instead of waiting for an invite, it is because you are the table our family eats at every night. Your oak limbs have dished… Continue reading Dear Ma
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
Trouble
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
Memory Box
by Romina Ramos Some of my earlier memoriesare of you, bringing me alongto pick up Rita from school.It took my whole fist just tohold on to one of your fingers. Or being six years old, at the beachon a school trip, my glasses safeinside my snack bag while I swam,my supermarket plastic mistakenfor rubbish and… Continue reading Memory Box
Hand Me Downs
by Romina Ramos You might understand,if you’d ever had to play mousein the middle, while your school palsspun you round and threw unwantedNikes and Adidas trackies at you. You would know why I amso defensive over my favourite hoodie,why I keep my trainers in their boxes,match my bandanas and socks. Fashion was just another currencyI… Continue reading Hand Me Downs
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
Delayed
Delayed We’ll get the 16:22 Hazel Grove service,and we’ll get off at Piccadilly station. The train will be delayed by 17 minutesbut we won’t notice because our eyes will be lost in conversation. I will sipfrom my coffee and we’ll share a cigarette and by the time the train arriveswe’ll have seen each other naked.
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