Under the harrowing sky, the Philly street vendor sold morning fried eggs. We passed
old Fairmount Prison, where each man, solitary in his cell, had gazed
through one small skylight to God.
and I left you alone in a hospital room, your single locked window looking out on Old
City.
Under the harrowing sky I ran home, alone, uphill
splashing night’s neon puddles, tears mixed with rain,
back home to crazy drunkcrazy scribbled on walls.
“Life sucks,” I told a friend on the phone.
“Yeah, but it doesn’t have to suck for you,” he said.
I hung up, walked into our tiny kitchen, and stared through skylight
into clear, black, star-filled sky.
old Fairmount Prison, where each man, solitary in his cell, had gazed
through one small skylight to God.
and I left you alone in a hospital room, your single locked window looking out on Old
City.
Under the harrowing sky I ran home, alone, uphill
splashing night’s neon puddles, tears mixed with rain,
back home to crazy drunkcrazy scribbled on walls.
“Life sucks,” I told a friend on the phone.
“Yeah, but it doesn’t have to suck for you,” he said.
I hung up, walked into our tiny kitchen, and stared through skylight
into clear, black, star-filled sky.
in the service of another by susan solomon
fall08/winter09 r.kv.r.y. quarterly literary journal
fall08/winter09 r.kv.r.y. quarterly literary journal
