Monday, May 16, 2011


Mossy hat, disheveled
hangs low on wide eyes that
sigh over burgeoning

cracks. Brick limbs colored with
ashes dig into dead earth
that once cradled flowers.

Beneath cracked toes, sunken
stone steps & gaping graves
moan ovals, suggesting wind

where none exists, &
starving. The past obscures
the tangerine sky. It shivers


--Sandra Ketcham currently lives in Orlando, where she works as a full-time freelance writer and editor. She is pursuing her degree in psychology and spends her free time working with autistic children and their families. Her poetry is recently published or forthcoming in Yes, Poetry, Psychic Meatloaf, Cherry Blossom Review, and others. Sandra has a strong aversion to llamas.

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