The water, a silk scarf, pooled teal;
a door slammed at the foot
of the cliff; and out of the silence,
a wall [navy, brown, colors repeated]
arose. Not a guttural animal
in the mountains beyond,
but a cry, a calculated move.
The sky above my pencil intended
to draw attention, scratching
on the rough cold to convey
pitiful suffering. Pressed, we both
knew the paper, like the wind,
in truth, did not exist. Blustering
in the shadows of the wall, was he;
evergreens were the only sound,
a well-planned retribution.
Emerald-tender grass spread
like an indictment, a rich carpet
laid at my feet: My hopes,
my feelings, and my needs
welcomed and sustained me.
(c) 2013, by Hannah Six
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