Glisten Here
Glisten Here
Like the dew in the grass -
broken glass
glittered
in harsh high beams,
and the red-and-blue
surrounding
the chalk lines
around
her.
The wind
played
hopscotch
in her hair,
and I knew
the cries
that angels make -
When we die.
-----
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Gah. This is hauntingly beautiful. So heart-wrenching. Between the chalk and the hopscotch, I think of childhood, and all she might have been. So sad.
ReplyDeleteOh this one is very good. Well done!
ReplyDeleteAwww this is a sad one.
ReplyDeleteMuch💛love
A very sad poem, but so well written!
ReplyDeleteI gasped. Wonderful and terrifying.
ReplyDeleteHaunting poem. The imagery of wind playing hopcotch with the woman's hair was riveting.
ReplyDeleteSo sad but beautifully written.
ReplyDeleteHopscotch hair, so original..bravo.
ReplyDeleteMean streets make too many early angels. Powerful writing.
ReplyDelete"The wind
ReplyDeleteplayed
hopscotch
in her hair,"
SO GOOD, Chris!
Much love,
David