Literary Yard

Search for meaning

By: Alison Auch

Photo by Lucas Pezeta on

It’s a liquid dinner that I can’t escape
the bones cross sideways as I walk
this path of marigolds, dogs, dust.

It’s dinnertime at my house, and the
children are in bed, stories of
my camera, my lens, my not seeing them.

It’s moving out of dinner into escape
the bones curve me now
waiting for the Ferris wheel, tricky metal.

This path of pale birds’ nests, sinkholes,
the moods you feed me, stringing
candy webs, as I walk this path.

It’s liquid, it’s night, now there’s
rain, escape, bones,
my lens doesn’t focus, balance.

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