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Heather C. Levy Poem
I remember watching
the sound of the rain in Autumn,
and how it hit the ground
making a such quiet landing
after falling so far.
My lamp kept
me company, whispering
light into my ear, telling
me she'll keep me unafraid
when it's dark at night.
As I rearrange my desk,
the phone rings, and I'm pulled
away from clicking the pens
to see if they still worked and the thud
in the trash can of those rejected.
The old dishwasher runs,
loudly churning?so much louder
than the rain landing
or my lamp's simple words.
Copyright © Heather C. Levy | Year Posted 2017
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Details |
Heather C. Levy Poem
Under the scorching spotlight sun,
this fan stands
fearing losing sight of a star.
Behind, watchers arm
themselves with binoculars.
Our eyes lock.
Lips prepare for
salty launch pad palms
depositing
lover's rockets.
Arms rise carefully.
Wrist rotate positioning
invisible spacecrafts
parallel to the earth.
Hot breath blasts
kisses flying,
floating in orbit
untouched
by gravity before colliding.
Now, one supernova sits
in a constellation
of safe jolts
and virtual crashes
propelled by two who
force breath simultaneously
intent on observing
the resplendent disappearance
the momentary flash
of a first kiss. Pores rise
becoming Braille revealing
how a married stargazer feels
weightless once more.
Copyright © Heather C. Levy | Year Posted 2017
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Details |
Heather C. Levy Poem
She freezes on a cracked plastic patio chair.
Morse code sleet sings “Auld Lang Syne.”
Coffee steam travels
north with piercing gusts
toward Times Square.
A teaspoon, overly used and rarely polished,
sleeps frostbitten on the table outside.
Planet earth rotates toward a new year
as she whispers her resolutions
into her styrofoam cup, quickly pouring
the contents out as not to spill
her secrets during daylight. She shuffles inside to stare
at the sparkling stars flickering
next to the scent of pine one last time.
Copyright © Heather C. Levy | Year Posted 2018
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