February 26, 2026Poem
An old woman
lossgriefnaturecitymemorytime
An old woman
Hell bent
Drags a limping shadow
She shakes
It shakes
Trying to break free
Who will be the first to die
The sky leaden
With apothecary
Spirits
Winding sheets
Weighed down
With sorrow pains.
Thunderheads
Grind
Pestle to mortar
They clang
Hammer on anvil
Mirthlessly discordant
Crushing the life
Out of the physics.
They never do much harm
Or much good
Nothing imaginary
Lasts longer than
A thought
All is as lost
As yesterday.
In the distance
Clouds are banked
In battalions
Rain will fall
As arrows from heavenly
Bows.
The streets have emptied
Soul free
As tattered silhouettes
Slip between the cracks
In the pavement.
Nothing is as it should be
All is as it is
Breathlessly
Expectant
Awaiting
The fall.