under spent blue skies.
Thick raindrops smack wind gusts,
converse over telephone lines
outside the basement window
where Sylvia’s “shut their eyes
and all the world drops dead,”
holding guns to our heads in quiet agony,
soup sits cold, writing lies
unfinished. Blood spills inside the dark
belly button of what’s left forgotten.
Calm clocks strike seven,
Alzheimer’s hour,
remembering the silence. In death,
ignorance is condemned to another life.
All the unpaired socks in laundry baskets
have collected the remains of a darkened
red hope - a river of rubies
overtaking the cold concrete,
like crimson rain.
Author Bio:
I am a Penn State University sophomore, majoring in Journalism and minoring in Comparative Literature. I have been writing since I was very little and love to write about personal experiences and realities of the world that people ignore or refuse to speak the truth about. I appreciate the views and voices of men and women who are strong, independent, and who create work that inspires others to indulge in their talents. I appreciate effective criticism 100% and hope that my work may be acknowledged.