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Saturday, June 26, 2010

YEARNING by Kelly Wantuch

The spicy dry pine needles fall onto the floor as a the tree shakes violently, like the bombing hell pellets of an ice-storm denting the delicate yellowed autumn lawns.

A three-year old belches, looks down to find a penny on the snowy sidewalk, heads side up.

Candle light flickers with the will of the rush of thinned blood through his asphyxiated veins.

Smothering soot hangs over the sharp ledge of red glowing wood coals, waiting to fall into the sea of blue gray dust.

The awakened infant roots around for the swollen nipple while his mother sleeps.