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Wednesday, January 25, 2017

January 2017



January 2017



Walked home late tonight
right down the center of the road,
head tipped way back, body open
to blazing stars as if someone
had unzipped my skin
from head to toe,
exposed a naked captive
who’d only dreamt
of seeing the sky.


For one clean moment
I was molten silver, pure
gratitude; I was light
calling to light, I was
light answering light. 
For one moment
I had no name,
no past, no future,
no need.  Then Preston Street
rose up to greet me;
I stumbled, found
the sidewalk,
hobbled home
with eyes dazzled,
stars seared into my retinas
like the after-image
of hope.


Deborah A. Miranda

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