March

There was rain falling through spring branches and then it was gone. For an hour or so no birds sang. The world can in fact be quiet. The old couple next door slept in the afternoon with their radio tuned to static. Telephone calls entered a void. I know something about hope: people create angels but only when they’re alone.

Author: skuusisto

Poet, Essayist, Blogger, Journalist, Memoirist, Disability Rights Advocate, Public Speaker, Professor, Syracuse University View all posts by skuusisto