By Kimberly Madura
You were like a broken piece of glass
I kept trying to hold close to my heart
All I could see was your sparkle
All I couldn’t see were your sharp and jagged edges
Until one day all I was left holding
Was a bloody and torn heart
But I still didn’t want to see your brokenness
So instead I blamed all those people
Who broke you
Who left you so shattered
But this too was an illusion
Only now can I see you for what you are, and chose to be
No sparkle at all in fact, only cheap broken plastic,
Made to sparkle only because you stood so close to my light.
By Wayne F. Burke
what’s that sound?
it is the sound of a shovel
scraping the walkway
as someone picks up the snow
a foot of it
on the yard
on the road
on my car
and the sound of that
worst than the sound of fingernails
scratching a chalkboard.
The House Is in Mourning.
By Rose Lee Craige
Boards creak out a psalm.
An old furnace that’s been off for months
Begins to mumble.
Tears dribble from the bathroom sink
Where I’d wash you
When you were too tired to swim.
It was two a.m. when what sounded like whimpering
Came teetering from the ceiling fan,
And a thumping sound jolted me out of blankets.
Halfway to the bottle
Before I remembered,
You could not be fed.
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