i s s u e: 2
// p o e t r y
Everyday Nothings
by Crystal Taylor
Footprints on the rug grow brown under my dog’s paw pads. I wash it, but a thread pulls the hem until the seams come loose. I can’t out-think the worry-weeds tumbling under my head when I sleep while the caulk peels and cleaves around the quarter rounds. Bags of things sleep in the guest bedroom: now it’s inhospitable. The cat leaves his sweater rolled up beside the curtains, while the laundry breeds a mound of sleeves down the hallway, miles-long. If there were any music left in my head, maybe I could inch along.
about the author // Crystal Taylor
| Crystal Taylor (she/her) is a poet, writer, and birdwatcher from Texas. She writes before eight and after five. Her poetry lives in Maudlin House, One Art, Rust & Moth, Ghost City Review, and other sacred spaces. She was nominated for BotN, 2025 for her poem, “Pearls”. |
Twitter/X/BlueSky: @CrystalTaylorSA Instagram: @cj_taylor_writes
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