Small Echo of Toads


Tired of wishes,

Empty of dreams. 

            ~Carl Sandburg


Sitting, smoldering in smoky shadows

her eyes ablaze of passion to go

unseen and ignored. She sits barefoot, one

leg stacked on the other like logs

in a fire, searching for a melody enchanting her

darkness to dance, but only the croak of toads

echo in the air tonight.  It remains the same

all night long, as the sun beckons the unemployed,

underpaid broken faces to rise—no longer needing

to feign sleep.  There is no sleep in

times of worry.  She sat there all night finding no reason

to get up, let alone dance.  As women pull themselves

from their beds to feed children too sleepy to welcome

the sun, she closes her eyes to imagine

what a hymn of grace would resemble.

Then she poses her body as a corpse trying to breathe

deep into her being.


1 Comment

  1. What a powerful last line!

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