Three Poems by Lauren Klein

The Diluvialist

These curtains don’t want me to live,
Yet I go on sitting here,
Watching as they billow in the bluish wind.

The door opens and shuts so that cold shadows
Blow into the house. Lace flutters irregularly, and I
Think I may be bleeding internally.

My grey coat and tie, my shined black shoes
Hide it all from view,
But I don’t know what could stopper my heart.

The sky drops dark.
Suddenly it’s late.
I’m the only one awake.



I lost something.

Then it was night, I heard children yelling,
Their shouts echoed from where they ran
After a train through a forest,

Deep in a place to which I long to return.
These voices were flames in the dark, at last I could add my own
To the sound. When I opened my eyes I was still in exile.

Life was meant to begin, but my mind fell to nonsense.


Psychoanalytic Poem

In my red skirt I smoke as I talk of
All the forces grinding on my mind. A
Stream of words: rip rap ripe ray–have you ever
Dreamed you were eating an apple? No? Well,
Go on. Next, let me tell you what I see:
A trail into a forest, a sooty
Spiral winding through a grey sky. Doctor,
What does it all mean? I’ll tell you, but first,
The verdict: the presence of an apple
Would have made it true. I sigh. It’s nothing
But a drama of eyebrows. Outside, the
Streetlight stains the sky and the clouds orange,
In cheap imitation of the moon.


Lauren Klein is a fourth-year student at the University of Toronto and an aspiring writer, artist, and translator. As hobbies, she enjoys vigilante comedy and natural science.