Leyna Inberg
november
autumn unfolded this evening
every storefront a solemn silver grate
I turned down twenty eighth
to find company in the cold glow
a woman ducked down on the pavement
to pick up an abandoned plant
it sat aside a trash can
and a cardboard box of other cardboard boxes
small purple flowers
tipped with brown
she carried it down the street
around the corner
she thought something of it
something more than I or anyone else had.
Leyna Inberg holds a B.A. in Psychology and Creative Writing from NYU. She is currently
working on the end of a novel, the beginning of a memoir, and names for dozens of untitled
poems that sit in a folder on her kitchen table. She lives in Brooklyn, which is also her
favorite place to write about.
Home
Issue One
november
autumn unfolded this evening
every storefront a solemn silver grate
I turned down twenty eighth
to find company in the cold glow
a woman ducked down on the pavement
to pick up an abandoned plant
it sat aside a trash can
and a cardboard box of other cardboard boxes
small purple flowers
tipped with brown
she carried it down the street
around the corner
she thought something of it
something more than I or anyone else had.
Leyna Inberg holds a B.A. in Psychology and Creative Writing from NYU. She is currently
working on the end of a novel, the beginning of a memoir, and names for dozens of untitled
poems that sit in a folder on her kitchen table. She lives in Brooklyn, which is also her
favorite place to write about.
Home
Issue One
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Chickenpinata
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| issue one |