issue 50: post-end

Midnight Smoke

- kristine ann gajitos (bio)

It's midnight
And I'm out
For a smoke
The night air
Cooling my skin
As a deep voice
From among the leaves
Asks me for a light

I look up to see
Looming from above
A dark shape
With glowing eyes
Holding up a big
Roll of cigar

"Care to give me a light?"
My jaw drops
My hand shakes
As I reach

For my lighter.
Ham hands take it;
A sizzle of burning leaves,
And the smell of a cigar
Fills the night air.

"Thanks," says the Kapre
And he vanishes
In the dark
Leaving me alone
My cigarette spent
Nearly burning
My fingers.

* a Kapre is a tree-dwelling giant in Philippine mythology that smokes cigars. They are usually harmless,
but they tend to smell awful.


- kristine ann gajitos (bio)


Breathe in.
Breathe out.
Skin to skin


Can't live without
Prick a vein
Smoke a leaf
Embrace pain
The night's a thief


Side by side
Coffin wide
Drown by morning
Fair warning

Apparently, You Won't be with Me

- kristine ann gajitos (bio)

It's lonely up here.
I wish you were with me.
Maybe then I'll be happy;
Nothing more to fear.

But I see you
With the gathered throng
Wiping your eyes

As they throw stones

At me. If only they knew
The scandals you raised!
But I bear the brunt
Of the lies you won't face.

So I hang here at the gallows,
Hugin and Munin at my shoulders.
I wait for the shadows to swallow
Me, as my world grows colder.


- benet ge (bio)

Recently I’ve been thinking about how
I think in first person too much


- benet ge (bio)

I used to write in purple prose,
beautiful scrolls of black and
serifs draped across a portrait
that most definitely was not me.

real tears

- anon

and as i said to the mirror,

i don't want to see you anymore,

sunken eyes flailed for the last time.


- anon

to remove

is to admit.

end of issue 50. go back to issues page.

the poetry juicebox
an international poetry & art publication
the poetry juicebox