Tuesday, August 12, 2008

Broken glass and

we, only minor characters wailing in the rain, into the wild.

The stranger sitting beside you, like a wet match, is no help to you now.

It’s time. Step out from the shadows of loving, of leaving.

As a child steps out of the long grasses
when the game has ended.

Like the ocean, pounding, smoothes the sharp edges
of broken glass.

Chase Street

in the chaos – and the children
upside down and dizzy
the music continues as before

floating with deception
around and through the voices
and the words continue as before

the grayness envelops
even the laughter
as the sky threatens us once again

and the only comfort
is the warm perfection of milk resting on my tongue

as life argues between the bitter and the sweet
just as it was that time before

Alexia Chamberas

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