This is for my friend M., with whom I had a conversation today. Some days are like this; others, much better… Peace, Amy
Quiet House Riot
Alone, left at home.
Then the storm moves in.
Soon floodgates open;
silent shrieks fill cracks
in fractured places.
Sea salt shores it up.
Building castles of crystalline tears.
The Dark Ones hand me a shovel.
They say, “Dig it.”
They aren’t hip – they’re talking about my grave.
of sodden gloom.
© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Also at my poetic home, Poets United.