Today's poem is by Annmarie O’Connell

Solemn, wide-mouthed streets

wear a betrayed look.
When they're ravaged,
miserable people bury fistfuls of every loss.
Sweaty, unclenched palms work the familiar
dirt beds.

We drift
with dull melodies of weeks turning
over and over—a ringing
in our ears.

It's like this:

Even when we can't see it,
we stretch over ourselves
to touch,
to reach for a small piece
of the floating world.

Copyright © 2013 Annmarie O’Connell All rights reserved
from Her Last Cup of Light
Aldrich Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission

Support Verse Daily
Sponsor Verse Daily!

Home    Archives   Web Weekly Features    About Verse Daily   FAQs  Submit to Verse Daily   Follow Verse Daily on Twitter

Copyright © 2002-2013 Verse Daily All Rights Reserved