the e-dict

…from the imagination of Erika Anne Randall

Category: Poetry

enough already

there will come a time when all I know is myself as I am, not as I was or wanted to be. I hope this moment does not wait for the hour of my death, unless that means I will savor that sense of nowness for all eternity.

slow phoenix

The sky this morning is the same color as my french lace curtains or the ashes of bones No mountains to speak of No eyelet of clouds It is under skies like this that I want to forget myself dissolve into the they say there could be snow on Tuesday air and put my broken […]


currency-for ezra   Inside the small globe of your world snow falls down around you While here, in my miniature bubble, 1300 miles away, leaves of yellow and amber blow and spill when shaken by the wind or your memory   The black squirrels are busy No time for jumping in leaf piles or playing […]

her world outside it

  her world outside it *   this is where I learned to love alone time and Albinoni and modern dance and the underside of leaves   this is where I found my quiet voice and my silent one and the one raging inside me that said for the first time i am angry   […]


Today I touched the sea, tasted her salt. inhaled her brine.   I am nothing like myself without her.   I see this now when I am nearer the cliff’s edge, nearer the quiet roar, nearer my own heartbeat.   How do I exist on dry land?   Sometimes, I am even bold enough to […]


    I am delighting in the cold of this morning the way my nose lights up a sudden rush of blood the way my 5 year-old’s wild eyes match the clear, blue sky or the sea just over those mountains there   As winter starts his slow creep across the land I wonder if a […]

from St. Mary Oliver

The Humpbacks Listen, whatever it is you try to do with your life, nothing will ever dazzle you like the dreams of your body, its spirit longing to fly while the dead-weight bones toss their dark mane and hurry back into the fields of glittering fire where everything, even the great whale, throbs with song. […]

Still Life with Movement

  It is impossible to hear all the sounds of morning- The crickets, the sparrows, the hummingbirds, The neighbors I haven’t met Just down the hill Bent over the engine of a teal and white Ford, Surgeons working deftly over a body Soon to be in motion It’s a rush hour of excitement Here in […]


Last night I dreamt there was a gas leak in the cottage that was, for that REM cycle, my home There was nothing to smell or taste or see just the knowledge that some vial spirit was filling the spaces between all the things and any loud noise or sudden movement not to mention a match […]

from below

I might stay sad forever. I might stay stone quiet. I might stay incomplete. I might stop my longing. I might try playing nice. I might get comfortable. I might find a way to be. Here, in this proper box. Here, in this pallid grey. Here, in this tight shaft. Looking up from below. I […]