School Crossing

Roadside wreaths taped to poles

or set down in sad, ordinary places

mark moments that tick still

in memory.

 

People space can no longer contain

remain in flowers cellophaned,

weighted with rocks and thoughts

that settle like fog in airless pockets.

 

Passing, I imagine the terrible unpeeling of skin,

pith pulled away from the bones.

Someone’s child doesn’t come home

each day

 

and the mottled pattern in the tiles

shows a face that the light

breaks over and no angle

can take away.

 

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3 thoughts on “School Crossing

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