the stillness in the air only seems to amplify these fading dreams accumulated like dead flower petals on the windowsill that no one bothers to dust anymore you wilt in this room of whitewash and shadows, your face ashen — a faded ragdoll from a bygone era drifts of dandelion tufts float up from the garden below, as if suspended in mid-thought then snatched away, blown off course through cruel passages and forgotten
An inopportune time for
another heaping portion of critique doled out on a Thursday morning devoid of any filament of warmth — boss-man dons his fedora, leaves as tiny figure makes final trek up a fire escape rain-slicked potholed pavements below that still carry transgressions, long-forgotten, as sleepy onlookers crane rubber necks and bulge eager eyes so they don’t miss a second tiny figure now atop a cold roof who paces: an agitated bird in the winds of fleeting youth. A collective breath is held as if it could somehow prevent a stain that would soon be forgotten the grey silence as I tear my eyes from the morning paper’s tragedy, my mind filling in gaps in a stranger’s life story to avoid my own. At times I think I deserve this absence. The cruel way nature takes away what it deems unviable — grieving what never was
Melody Wang currently resides in sunny Southern California with her dear husband and wishes it were autumn all year ‘round. She is a reader for Sledgehammer Lit and can be found on Twitter @MelodyOfMusings. Her debut chapbook “Night-blooming Cereus” is coming out on December 17, 2021 with Alien Buddha Press.