Zoe Antoine-Paul πŸ”ˆ

quiet night for dying

I chop fingerlings and carrots for dinner,
roast them in olive oil and rosemary and thyme;
eat potato chips instead.

A boom fly fancies my throat a home
so I pin him to my window,

Friedrich Nietzsche lulls on the TV,
I do the laundry;

the sheets will starch or wrinkle
in the city’s soft heat,

my sister on the phone says she has an essay
due the next day

& the next day & the next day
& the next day & the ne –

the flame of my maple candle
is starved for oxygen

(I think I am thinking too much
about revival against the will)

it puts itself out again,

I grab the lighter.

Author Reading

About the Author

Zoe Antoine-Paul was born on the Island of Saint Lucia, but now calls Brooklyn home. She likes writing about the city, the beauty in the mundane, and everyday internal turmoil. Her work has been published in F(r)iction Magazine, Poets Collective, Scapegoat Review, Funicular Magazine, West Trade Review, and New Note Poetry. When she isn’t writing, Zoe can be found crunching numbers in Midtown.