The Red Queen in her crown. YA & adult poetry. Love & relationships. I preserve moments in the glistening amber of language. #WhirlingIntoFlame now available.

Somewhere, you can hear my voice. By Julia R. DeStefano

On October 20th, I felt a pull. A bizarre urge to pull my car over to the side of the road, and get out to walk. It was my lunch break, and I had some time to breathe before I…

A poem by Julia R. DeStefano

“Catwoman” by Ann Bembi

Hello There

A piercing sigh, once your clarion call -

my heart shrieks in remembrance of that now-alien era

when you wouldn’t allow a frown upon my cinnamon lips

in a promise to never leave this Queen’s botanical garden.

Because I enthralled you at…

A poem by Julia R. DeStefano

Photo by Shashank Sahay on Unsplash

Flash Flooding

You are so quiet.

How many storms must you carry?

Weighing upon your shoulders like Atlas.

How many storms are you made of?

Your silent thunder

pushing me away with both hands

in this whiplash shift

from light to pitch dark skies.

The ping pong ball of silence ricochets from wall-to-wall, reminding me that I am the Emily Dickinson of my time. By Julia R. DeStefano

Photo by Alex Mihai C on Unsplash

The ping pong ball of silence ricochets from wall-to-wall, reminding me that I am the Emily Dickinson of my time. She, too, lived through a pandemic…

One of the loveliest and sexiest things that can be said to the right woman is: “Tell me what you want.” By Julia R. DeStefano

I was (probably) the closest I will ever come to a 1960’s s** kitten the other night.

No, really. In a stroke of genius, my hairdresser decided he was going to wrap my hair in velcro rollers, and put me under the…

A poem by Julia R. DeStefano

Photo by Jake Weirick on Unsplash

Amusement Miles

“Take me to the water,” I whisper.

My Amusement Mile,

Coney Island of your mind

where eyes become hands.

Once, they called it the Pleasure Wheel

and I believe it, too.

A strong man.

Provider of a heavenly ascent.

But first, the…

A poem by Julia R. DeStefano

Photo by Rhett Wesley on Unsplash

Word Witch

“I love it when you get your naughty eyes,”

he tells me -

though his are far naughtier.

I like to swim the depths of those oceans,

wondering how he got them.

Because there’s always a story.

A first time.

I remember…

A poem by Julia R. DeStefano

Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash

Cravings

I looked at this boy

radiant with my legs in his lap.

His soft gaze traveling from me

to the television and back again.

His fingertips dancing upon the worlds

of my silken skin.

Running their own bases.

Thinking of more than just scoring.

And I wanted to ask him:

“How is it that you are peace like a crystal river?

A library after hours?

The North Star?”

Hoping he’d let me drink it down

as eagerly as Alice did.

Because I’d never known a creature so gentle.

The combination to my intricate locks

written on his compass heart.

Easy like a Sunday morning drive

while it whispers to mine,

Shhhh, settle down

before offering it a place to rest and a pillow.

But we don’t say such things outside of poetry,

so I squeezed him tighter.

© Julia R. DeStefano

Julia R. DeStefano

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