Poetry | June 19, 2020
Poems: Melissa Studdard
Because Deathbolts Illuminate the Wonderstorm
Cruel, the highway that
took the dogs.
I’ve seen its shoulders
convulse gently in the crying of nightfall
the way a teenaged girl can be
both vicious and vulnerable.
It doesn’t like what it has done,
and I don’t like to say it.
Sometimes I hold a kaleidoscope
to my beloved’s eye
and ask him
to never look at anything again
How can I trust a world
that hasn’t yet
honored the softness in his pupil?
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