I didn't follow any prompt today, but just sat down and wrote. My writing desk looks out the window to a magnolia tree, but it's dark as I write this poem and all I can see is its silhouette behind the darkness of suburbia.
Cold Night
Moonlight eclipsed by magnolia.
I wash the moon with the inside of oyster shells.
Night burns suburbia’s roofs into soot.
What is a trap, but the doors we lock, the windows we close.
Ants find a way onto bathroom tile.
Silhouette is a pretty word for shadow.
I slant myself away from computer screens.
A pen’s shadow inks across the page.
I pollinate each locked door with worry.
The house sighs and my ears open like nightshade flowers.
The geometry of my restlessness slips like shadows into a keyhole.
Light a candle and the lines on the notebook look like barbed wire.
Cut them and the sharp edges glimmer like stars slick with rain.
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