Aftermath
open is air
that breaks in
slices
from non-toxic waste
on roofs, in clouds
flying
down
the
ladd
er
to conform to the
light
from the greyness of hell
faded ashes and smoke
and pupils who
never shot their magma
at meteors
in assumptions that they were merely yearly snow
now their aftermath
is a saving sage
for the sticky river to powder herself in
and look at herself in the
one-way mirror of her delusions of ice
and cry
Copyright © Ashlea Senft | Year Posted 2019
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