Poem by Angela Thorne
A memory
mom told me not to spin
on the front sidewalk
& my dress
rippled out into air
fanned wide
a perfect circle
blood flowing
to the tips of my fingers
blurring clouds
a whisper
in a Monet-painted sky
& the birds couldn’t fly
as high
as i
til my shoe caught
& my palms landed
hard against concrete.
i lifted one
felt the sting
saw the red
on my skin
& wondered
how
how
it could be
that concrete
bled all over me
Angela Thorne is a writer and musician who has been published in The Bokeh Review, Vine Leaves Literary Journal, Your Tango, The Orff Echo, Doves & Serpents, the San Antonio Review and, upcoming, in The Soliloquist. Her feature script, Serenade, won best screenplay at the Baltimore Film Festival in 2026. She is currently working toward an MFA in creative writing at Lindenwood University.
