Three Poems by Frances Koziar


She found me, not
the other way around. Whisper-
soft as butterfly wings, her feet
bare on the loam, her sigh
the wind on my cheek. I followed her,
–what, I didn’t know–
for something to hold onto
through the burden
of my grief; I followed
her as a child
follows a fairy,
or an old woman
a memory, reached
the shore of the ocean, salt
fingers on my skin, siren
waves calling, but already
she was rising: up, up,
into the gathering
dusk, glowing pale
as the moon.


was never something I considered, exactly–
more like a friend who lived next door. Death
woke up every morning
at the same time, or sometimes
slightly after, waved
at me from their window and I
waved back, uncertainly; Death
was always there when the rest of the world
was too far away
to remember; Death
could hear through the walls when I screamed
or cried, knew that I knew that they were there
if I wanted them; Death
sang me lullabies over my parents’
destruction, whispered that they would give me freedom,
if I never found it for myself. Death
waited, eyes full of love, ready to catch me
when I fell, waiting only for a yes
to carry my home.


Broken toys
across the floor


train tracks split
doll houses, lies


the space, distort

the dreams,
whisper like murderers

in our ears

Frances Koziar has publications in over three dozen literary magazines, and is seeking an agent for a diverse NA fantasy novel. One of her poems was shortlisted for the 2019 Molotov Cocktail Shadow Award Contest, and her poetry has appeared in Acta VictorianaSnapdragon, and Shot Glass Journal. She is a young (disabled) retiree and a social justice advocate, and she lives in Kingston, Ontario, Canada. You can visit her website at