Tuesday, January 7, 2014

immune

In the space of a question…

The icicle, chill and clear,
formed quickly in just one day
off the roof’s corner.
The storm seized
the city streets
and sidewalks;
the downspout,
filled with
uncleaned leaves,
overflowed and froze.
A dagger hanging,
holding onto home,
growing longer
with each unbroken hour.
Tomorrow I predict
the late afternoon sun
will shine through
her crystal life,
she will melt
and let go,
fluid once again,
uncontained,
free to swell
like the river
from whence
she came.
Death,
false and fragile,
thus dissipates,
once a
menace,
now a
promise.

…she was gone.




Immune
a poem by Troy Cady








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