Poetry by Poppie Herrin

Ketchup Sandwiches


Golden blonde tresses drape demure shoulders

as she rides her bike with awkward grace,

her bashful blue eyes shimmer like sapphires—

pure perfection has a freckled face.


Scraped knees and elbows, dressed in hand-me-downs,

her crooked smile struggles with timid twitches,

queen of my heart in a flower crown—

beauty nurtured by ketchup sandwiches.

When Mourning Dawns


All day your name has been against my mind

and hurt me like the too frail loveliness

of pear blooms in the rain.


All night my voice undefined

has swung from star to star

to call you back.


Tomorrow I will know that you can’t come

and after that I won’t know anything

but small hard shells against my bare feet

and sand upon my lips at dawn.


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