Gone Missing

Kristen Scott


And, what is happiness,

if not a fleeting moment



flush of cheek

brush across mouth


what is it,

if not a moment

that one two-minute

dance that lasts  lifetimes


a strong whispered, “I love you baby,”

soft moans in the darkness of bed



when does it go missing?

making your whole- wide- world

as you know it change,

so swift as a twirling leaf

dwindling, sinking, to ground

once devoted to limb and bud,

blown off

by unexpected winds, blasts,  gale forces

the head spinning, snaps    back     stops.

                feet come downhill    touching ground

stranded   in    everyday


a minute


splitting seconds of time



Kristen Scott has her MA in Literature from National University in La Jolla, California and will graduate with her MFA in Creative Writing in fall 2011. She has published in several anthologies, newspapers, and online journals. She resides in Princeton, NJ.

Of Looking Glasses

Kristen Scott


I would drink the drink of strychnine

to push the hurt of you out of my mind


I never knew that look before

I never knew   orange

blossoms departed from your eyes


oh, to look at me in such venomous

strikes  –

I never thought to see that through

the roses of mine


could Shakespeare have written

such a fantastical ending

to a wide-eyed passion?


ah, the glorious dying from love

the fables and witchery of wonder

secret potions, eyes of newt, and

fairy dust.


but, alas, our love wasn’t born through the

looking glass – I just never knew


until now.



Kristen Scott- see author’s bio in additional works and on author’s page.


Kristen Scott


at sixteen I swallowed

ten Tylenol – the robin

egg blue ones,

with a fifth of Lord Calvert.

a painting of Jesus by

Palestinian shores

pushed me out the front door –

seeking adventure,    rowing

 my own delusional boat –


on 10th street I caught fish,

reeled them into my

501’s.   I decided to throw

them back on Bonair

and, so,  St. Paul sent me out

to the Sea of Galilee,

surrounded by MALE apostles

and that infamous prostitute –

Ah, Mary,      the one no one likes

to mention, not a prostitute





Mary, I followed you from

sea to shining tomb,

awaiting the resurrection –

Instead, I got my stomach

pumped and a lecture from

my Philippine doctor.

my mother just wondered

why it was so hard to raise a girl. 

 please see author’s full bio in additional works and on author’s page.