Halfway There

There’s a crack straight down
the center, a dividing rod
between two ventricles,
a boundary line formed
of scars and salt.

In this cold,
carved canyon
she collects fragments:
hope severed too soon,
a fractured moon,
and other things aching
to be whole.


Written for Poetic Asides, Day 16.

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2 Responses to Halfway There

  1. Susan Chast says:

    I feel the ache in/of each boundary line and fragment of this poem. How evocative of inner and outer canyons. I am not a rock.

  2. Sara v says:

    Quite an image–hope severed too soon really stuck with me

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