We are weary star
-chalkdusted fury fugue.

For we have been here for hours
and hours and hours,
most of them black
as night.

But like this aching, waking sky,
only our cracked-open places
allow the spill
and thrill
of light.


Nov Poeming.




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1 Response to Curbside

  1. Shawna says:

    I read “walking sky,” which has me picturing those dark clouds going for a walk while you sit on the curb and watch. As a metaphor, I think this is about people pacing in a hospital waiting room, angry and bitter, praying for healing and recovery. The speaker, I think, needed some fresh air and a good private cry, and stepped outside to sit on the curb and weep for a while.

Use your words.

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