Paolo Margari Candidato CC The light was not for me You've done as well as the sun is accepting; unlike me in times of lightning Irregular twilights, accident zones; three dead, one wounded, a dawn, where coyotes sing alone. Who knows why things must rotate, our selfish orbiting heads, filling up more than their circumference Worth - our time, on Earth nothing if not fervent; inane - I did not do as well as you, In following the rules, 1am is the blackest hole, purpled suction of The needle draw. The water, not clear - platelet crimson, dawn felt nothing for me; came not for me - With Devil straw, inserted, blessedly, I considered it then; forgive me, son, for it seemed like a friend. I do as well as I am able, without knowing your older face, nor how it compares to your brother’s I take no chance in saying sorry knowing I was not, most things a dad should be. But I can sleep, perpetually in darkness, knowing the boy I often wronged Has survived, dare I say, flourished, in life; even in the blinding, white glare of daylight. ![]() Bio: Elisabeth Horan is a poet/mother from Vermont, who enjoys working with horses and spending time with her two young sons. Her column Arsenic Hour is featured at TERSE. Journal. Her first collaborative chapbook comes to life this March at Moonchild Magazine. She teaches English at River Valley Community College. Follow her @ehoranpoet and [email protected] 2/16/2018 07:53:22 pm
Such poetry can’t go unnoticed. Who knows why things must rotate? My heart fluttered there. Comments are closed.
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