Front Porch Review
The morning shines its music as though
we’re not all wedged between our
dusty pick-up-truck blur and all the dreams
that were supposed to take us someplace else.
We sleep through the wildflowers. Listen to rain
beat down roofs in its uneven rhythm. It hurts us
too bad to know it’s summer. Eastern Parkway’s
trees line crooked sidewalks as we, shadow-eyed,
commute breathless, without realizing we’re driving
to work, or the grocery, or home. We watch pretty girls
and smile as boys whose eyes sparkle slide their
hands to the smalls of backs, the way we all once knew.
Cynicism sneaks up fast. We stare as cardinals and
robins cling to branches, and clouds move through
the lilac throat of dusk. The arm by the train tracks
begins to close as the alarm sounds. These thoughts.
Some days we know how good people can
do hurtful things when desperation turns to knots.
And we understand a little better how tempting
it is, those seconds, that flashing inch beyond the rust.
Sarah Mackey Kirby is a Kentucky poet and writer. She is taking a hiatus from teaching history to the high school sophomores and juniors who make her laugh and fill her days with joy to focus on her writing. She and her husband share their Louisville home with a sweet cat and a mischievous but loveable Cockapoo. If Sarah had it her way, she would spend most of her time traveling, painting, and being at the beach. Her poetry has been published or is forthcoming in Connecticut River Review, Dream Noir, Impspired, Muddy River Poetry Review, Punk Noir, and elsewhere.