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Shrug



The wind blows hope.
It messes up our hair,
steals away our breath,
makes the smallest petal quake.
It untethers the smoke,

til we think the sky is pure,
til we trust the azure...

The curtains slump back.
We are left yearning
for the blue.







Author notes

a Larson comic: A car driving off a cliff. The caption: ... "Laura possessed far too much hope."

 

 

(love Atwood)

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Comments


  • zillion
    April 13, 2008
    Edit | Reply
    I love her too. Great way to end a poem.