top of page

The architecture of you - Sarah Durrand

I blinked and said my silent thanks to the stars

for giving you a receding hairline and bloodshot eyes:

subtle signs you weren’t actually perfect,

and I ate my dinner with you in more peace

than the very few texts it took to plan.

But that was a dying wish.

The stars couldn’t long betray that

you and I have a little of the same dust within us.

Your eyes aren’t bloodshot, but blue,

and your hair would be perfect with my fingers in it.

When I kneeled at your bed it was equal parts

comfort, a rest for my form,

and hope that you would cave in on yourself

looking so closely at what couldn’t be.


Sarah Durrand is a poet based in San Diego, CA. In her spare time, she enjoys reading, rollerblading, and talking about the birds that come to her feeder.


Recent Posts

See All


bottom of page