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Born and raised in Massachusetts, k.r. taylor is a Radiologic Technology student with an undeniable passion for writing. Her poetry has been seen in The Weight Journal, Teen Ink, Dead River Review, and forthcoming in Ghost City Review. She attempts to grasp the intangible through her work, whether it derives from societal issues or ones close to home. While she helps people in the medical field, she hopes her writing can do the same beyond medicine.

k.r. taylor

failing at forgiveness smells like cigarettes

the kitchen stopped smelling like cigarettes
shortly after my fifteenth birthday
when my mom finally quit
in the same breath, the bottoms of her bottles were no longer
her nightly ballroom to dance in

the porch was just a bench
and a constant slammed screen door
but she didn’t go out there anymore
in the middle of the night
in the middle of anything

the day i left home
the screen door was left unslammed
words were left unsaid
my mom’s tear soaked cheeks
still haunt my hands after years of getting clean

she brings me groceries when i’m sick
always asks if i want something to eat when i visit
and she reminds me she loves me over text
but she still sleeps beside the man who taught me violence
and i still think of her when i smell cigarettes

— k.r. taylor

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To have your work considered for the Lyrical send it to:
Doug Holder, 25 School St.; Somerville, MA 02143
dougholder@post.harvard.edu