Two Poems by Sara Matson

<contemporary child>


i eat

+ evolve

her voice is sex

a good phoenix

like guilty human soup

pregnant with glass

damage recharges

friends + art

i have a sister

in another dimension

like a rare ritual mask

a bedroom sculpture

falling asleep w/

hearts on different coats

gaming at opera +

dreaming of time travel

<party people>

flitting between burned




on green


filament strands

whisping across

painted blue


trans//fixing even the

beads of sweat

to the antiquities

as i s l o w l y c r a w l


to the cool

wood of the bathroom

floor +

press my face into

your robe

Sara Matson’s writing can be found or is forthcoming in The Journal Petra, Theta Wave, Dying Dahlia Review, Vagabond City Poetry, Déraciné Magazine, DATABLEED, Soft Cartel, Dream Pop Press, and elsewhere. Sara lives in Chicago with her rad husband + cats, and Tweets as @skeletorwrites.