Tag Archives: Lana Spendl

Women Like Them

by Lana Spendl

When we were students in this new town, my friend Annabel’s house stood on a hill. A cracked staircase led to the front door, and inside, incense and music drifted in air. Throws beckoned from every corner. Sepia photos stood in old frames. And always something held magic for Annabel. Always something deserved to be opened like fruit with her hands.

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Filed under Nonfiction

Bare Necessities

by Lana Spendl

I walk into her office to give her papers
and she comes to mine to return them.

My walls are bare. Just a table, a chair.
Coffee pot in corner, next to a lamp
a coworker gave.
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Filed under Poetry