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.



bottom of page