Author Archives: Phyllis Grilikhes

Opening Folds in a Fan

upon the taste of color in a ruddy pear and my hands at the keyboard into Brahms upon people’s voices that pass without consequence as garbage trucks roll with rain possible upon trying to be less wordless as water runs in the kitchen sink and minutes fast forward on the clock face upon the blueness… Continue Reading


Hope grabbed her by the hand It was a random thing That the small, supple hand Took a tool and Strand by strand, by strand Etched flaming color Into the square Of a while pillow face Silent music Disturbing no one Continue Reading


Seasons, reasons, bridges half willed Unconvinced you walk on a pattern already laid Reasonably played You know this is not the way as you follow each day Walk the stairs Scattered with remains of treks made before Always followed never taken On the street Shadowed by what you left behind Drifting light rain through your… Continue Reading