There was something soothing
in the way they danced. It evened out
the rough edges in me, filling a void
with something, anything.
The breeze caught one, and it
twirled with the others,
It was a quiet evening, cold and dark. I was approaching my building carrying the night’s dinner in a Pizza Hut box. Just off the sidewalk there’s a beat-up picnic table, its graying wood smooth from persistent use. There was a guy on the table, seated on the tabletop with his feet resting on the bench. He wore a heavy jacket and a beanie – his efforts to stave off the cold. As I approached, he blew a cloud of smoke from the cigarette he was smoking, and it drifted into the sidewalk. I walked through it. Continue reading
This blog is to inform my mother that I am alive and playing nicely with others while off in the big bad city of Newark, DE
There is no friend as loyal as a book
a place for words to go. when i'm listening.
Original poetry, commentary, and fiction. All copyrights reserved.
Write Your Own Story