Melancholy Hyperbole

Poetry about longing.

Tag Archive for ‘Darla Mottram’


We sat on a bridge in my hometown, shook off our shoes, swished our skirts. Bare feet on a summer afternoon feel a lot like freedom; something talked about and then forgotten in the discomfort of the day-to-day. We talked about Esther’s figs, how the future seemed so spread out, our choices incomprehensible. We talked about our missing pieces. We were so young. I told you I thought that inside […]

Continue Reading →

Today I Am Sad

My tongue tastes like dirt and is sluggish as a swollen earthworm. Bones ache and arms flop uselessly, noodles that stick to every surface. I look in the mirror and see a can of red spaghettios, but food doesn’t interest me and neither does color. I’d like to paint my meatballs yellow, but I can’t figure out how to use a brush. Today I cannot make myself care about customer […]

Continue Reading →


Your friends live far away, scattered across cities and states. Sometimes you call to say I miss you, but then silence spins itself out across the wire, meanings lost behind sighs and half-stories. Mostly you do not call them, because you are tired, and it is tiring to miss people whom you cannot reach, who live in cities you cannot get to because you are poor and busy, and when […]

Continue Reading →