Memory, Like a Washing Machine


I imagine you here

in the secret place,

the whirl

of my memory

like a washing machine.


I’m hanging from the ceiling,

a chandelier.


The thought of our past

tortures me,

reminds me



ever, never.


Fossilized love,

I’m a human water board.


A waterfall forces me to the bottom

of a sandy ravine,

fish nibbling at my toes,


the water, shining

like grief.


I swim to get away,

to live without you

one day,

the day after

and 50,000 years later.



Loren Kleinman


lkLoren Kleinman is a New Jersey poet, whose work has appeared in literary journals such as Nimrod, Journal of New Jersey Poets, Resurgence (UK), HerCircleEzine and Aesthetica Annual. Her poetry explores the results of love and loss, and how both themes affect an individual’s internal and external voice.  She received her B.A. in English Literature from Drew University and her M.A. in Creative and Critical Writing from the University of Sussex (UK).

She is the recipient of the Spire Press Poetry Prize (2003) and a 2000 and 2003 Pushcart Prize nominee. In 2003, Spire Press (NYC) published her first collection of poetry Flamenco Sketches, which explored the relationship between love and jazz. She judged the literary entries for the book Alt-History: New Writing from Brighton published by QueenSpark Books (UK).  Her second volume of poetry, The Dark Cave Between My Ribs was just released.


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