Written and read by Dorothea Lasky
Please tell me that I was a good child
And that I did everything right
And that the atmosphere was exactly certain
I want you to love me
In ways that you never have
So that I become a forgotten world
With rainbow sunrises over dark green trees
And the cooling of the day
Becomes normal again
We will sit and watch the body of water
That we once called a sort of death
You know even in my dreams
You say I’ll never get it right
This is not a dream
We are burning here with no escape
But no matter how many times
They talk about the moon
It does not take a poet
To know that the moon
Is still only an illusion
Only an illusion
The moon calls out to all of us
Come back, it says
But we don’t hear it
Already on our way
To somewhere
Little baby
Written and read by Dorothea Lasky
Little baby on the edge of the bed
With the room bathed in purple
Didn’t you know about the car
That was drenched in magenta light
You were there when it went
Down the road and back again
Little baby on the edge of the bed
You were there with me for that whole fall
When I fell for myself again
Little baby when they took you out
Wasn’t it all so obvious
Wasn’t it all so exposed like they wanted it
Little baby they had to cut my babies from me
Because I’ll never give you up easily
Little baby on the edge of the bed
With the room bathed in purple
Wasn’t I always a different person
Little baby there on the bed
If I could do it all over again
Little baby there in the room
Drenched in purple
If I could do it all over again
I wouldn’t
Little baby
If I could do it all over again
I would
Me
Written and read by Dorothea Lasky
All we have is one day and then the night and then the dark
I gave up poetry but then again here we are
All those people that I was
I hated her as much as they hated me
But now in a gentler light
I love her more than any of it
It’s not shameful to realize that you all are the illusion
And I am not!
I gave up all of it for you
And all you could muster were some frogs
A yellow light
You said a sun was in a basket or a bowl
Deeply embedded in the imagination
I believed you then
Knowing the real reality is a metaphor
And that the sun is no illusion
And that there may be no one good day left
All we have is one good minute
What will you do on this last day
All I ask is that you tell me I’m a butterfly
Green Moon
Written and read by Dorothea Lasky
Green, how I want you green. ––Lorca
I am sorry I let you down
I was writing this poem
In the middle of everything
The way they wanted it
Spring like a gun to the head
Green how I want you
I’m so sorry flower
I let you down
I was a pink warrior
A violent concoction
Someone mixed me up by accident
But don’t be sorry for me
Nothing like a lake
To go admire
As you drive past it
On the way to something
A real miracle
And if you showed up here tonight
Like I wanted you to
I wouldn’t stop to apologize
I’d embrace you
Without thinking
How I wanted you then
How I still do
Green like I know you better
If I could do it over again
I wouldn’t
Winter
Written and read by Dorothea Lasky
Maybe I was born weeping
A sort of loss of faith
In the utter blanketing darkness
I muttered it
Until I meant it
I mustered: Poetry will save us all
The orange plants magnified
Everyone surrounded
By endless fires and disease
Maybe I was born kneeling
Atop the orange mountain
No rebirth in sight
I should have stayed alive
I told the end, a little quietly
The frigid sun—it said nothing
You know they tried
But they couldn’t stop me
I waited until they forgot about me
And then I ran
Voice
Written and read by Dorothea Lasky
We all said horrible things to each other
You said I’m crazy so I said you’re boring
In the context of things, we certainly were even
The ghost said: All you do is make stuff up
So I said in sighs: But doesn’t everyone
When someone dies
Eventually you forget their voice
Death is such a lie
It buzzes all around you
Poetry you are the red room of my life
Where I go to be any age
Where I can be anything at all
Love is like a butterfly
Written and read by Dorothea Lasky
When you’re around
It’s like the smallest lilacs
Are in bloom forever
Between us
I feel the tiniest tender flowers
The smallest little lilacs
Between us like many glowing eggs
That we gently volley
And roll back and forth between us as a song
Despite the world and all its cruelty
We dare not break them
We use every ounce to give them care
Despite it all
My mad heart
Small and insidious
Your heart and all its madness
An aquarium with the tiniest fish
Always sweet and green forever
Small and insidious
That is what they will say
Of our love
People write poems
About all of their
Fake love
Real love is a tiny flower
We barely touch between us
Real love is tenderness
Roses
Written and read by Dorothea Lasky
I was much further out than you thought
––Stevie Smith
I wasn’t ok
But no one cared
Beautiful and strong
Is what they called me
I answered the call
That’s what they wanted
Not waving but drowning
They waved back
The roses fell from the gardens
I didn’t even let the butterflies in
I latched the gate
Not waving but dying
The butterflies were glowing
I was on my way
To somewhere
The butterflies flew away
I didn’t even let
The butterflies in
Waving and dying
I latched the gate
The roses fell
From the garden
Not blooming
But drowning
Sky black and torn
No butterflies
I didn’t even let
The butterflies in!
The babies fell
From the sky
Not waving
But dying
The roses fell
They were blooming now
With open eyes
Bad Teacher
Written and read by Dorothea Lasky
I’m wild
But I’m not evil
I’m not the evil teacher
Who sits at the front of the classroom
I sit in the back of the classroom
With the bad boys
It’s all so lovely and awful
This way of life
And I can shout
With the best of them
Anyway something is wrong
With mommy
Her head is just completely off now
She’s wild
And entirely evil
She sits in the front of the classroom
And from her severed head
She smiles at me
And even when I close my eyes
I can see she’s still smiling at me
Anyway something is wrong with me
I can sit in the back of the classroom
And see my severed head
Somewhere floating
It looks so angry
And even when I close my eyes
I can tell it’s still angry at me
(c) 2025 Dorothea Lasky