From the corner
a grainy light shades a smile.
In the distance, tenement towers,
gray tusks in a monochrome sky.
He looks like a white root
exposed to sooty clouds,
a tendril unearthed
by quarrying shadows.
I cannot now own that boy.
His body appears like a foreign word,
a thin unconnected stem
of a forgotten language.
At times though, a callus of light
peels back a burning page
from a recent photograph
of myself, revealing
just enough of him
to spook the dead.
~~
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Rita Bourland
heidibeth
Dr. Spudman44
hilarad
Brazen Princess
M. C. S.
Salon.com
Comments
and Spike,
I appreciate your readership.