ISSN 1551-8086
return to home search for a contributing writer

seach for poems by title

archive of previous issues submissions information mailing list online store links to other interesting sites contact us  
  April 2015
volume 12 number 1
-table of contents-
 
  home   (archived)
 
  contributing poets
  Adeolu Emmanuel Adesanya
  Lynn Albanese
  Steven Alvarez
  Jonathan Beale
  Stefanie Bennett
  Jack G. Bowman
  Jennifer Bradpiece
  Don Kingfisher Campbell
  Michael Aaron Casares
  Beverly M. Collins
  William Crawford
  Pijush Kanti Deb
  Elisabeth Adwin Edwards
  John Elison
  Emily Fernandez
  Jeanie Greensfelder
  John Grey
  David Herrle
  Sonika Jaggi
  Strider Marcus Jones
  Phillip Larrea
  Emma Lee
  Marieta Maglas
  Matt McGee
  Christopher Mulrooney
  Dave Nordling
  Toti O'Brien
  Greg Patrick
  James G Piatt
  Frank Praeger
  April Salzano
  David Scriven
  LB Sedlacek
  Danielle Smith
  Jan Steckel
  Carl Stillwell
  Tim Tipton
  Philomena van Rijswijk
  Wanda Vanhoy Smith
 
  home
  poets
  poems
  archive
  submissions
  mailing list
  store
  links
  contact
   
Toti O'Brien
April 2015
   

 

bio


art by dl warner

    Toti O'Brien is the Italian Accordionist with the Irish Last Name. She was born in Rome then moved to Los Angeles, where she makes a living as a self-employed artist, performing musician and professional dancer. Her work has recently appeared in Gyroscope, Mizmor Anthology, Parentheses, and Crossways.
Toti O'Brien

   

 

Gypsy

Yes, each morning
I clean up the miles I
drove yesterday
for a fair account I
restart from
zero.
So each morning is
clear each day
a new one.

It is sweeter
than love the sense
of being home
anywhere while
walking the unknown.
A small square
a store a gas
pump and here
I belong.

I live far from
the ones I love.
When they die
do they go much
farther? No.
This exile of mine's
like being dead
through the living or
between the dead
breathing still.

For all goes
from a virtual place
to another
in the treasure box
of my mind.
Memory with my
gypsy blood is
what I have got.
All is loss
all is flashing by
and I like it so.

All is gone
is a snapshot
like a train seen between
two houses
a small piece
at a time.
Like a house
we see from the train
a light through the
window
fading in the dark.

All is say hello
say goodbye
I thank and forgive you
with my first hand
shake.
Do I build?
Sure, but soft:
a tent in the desert
one more page
in the scrapbook
of dreams.

copyright 2015 Toti O'Brien