dismal, depressing towns dotting old highways
that exist only for folks on road trips
to drive through. Towns of shuttered shops,
boarded up buildings being forgotten
as they disintegrate into dust.
I’ve seen hills broken by blackened burnt trees,
memories of wildfires displayed for years
as the earth tries to heal. I’ve seen
city scapes where the dispossessed attempt lives,
their struggles saturating the surroundings
in grays and smog and temperatures
always too hot or too cold. This swamp,
so still in the sunrise, the moon visible
as a sliver of smile as light rises over water
and woods, cannot be as barren
as its name implies—the few birds caught
by the artist would have left long ago,
and the sun would have forgotten how to break.
Mary Christine Delea has a Ph.D. in English/Creative Writing and is a former professor. She is the author of The Skeleton Holding Up the Sky, as well as three chapbooks. Her work appears widely in journals and anthologies. Her website is mchristinedelea.com and she has a Substack with creativity prompts called Peeled Citrus. Originally from Long Island, NY, she now lives in Oregon.
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