On The Eighth Day By Gracie Fuhrman

On The Eighth Day

Open the book and let
it speak those
half-truths-

this city,
a river ebbing
into pools
of blue.

Light those Marlboro’s; just
know you won’t
afford them in the morning-

this city,
a pause.

A light that fades,
like a Winehouse lyric-

we join the club but ain’t famous
enough to get in.

this city,
a break in words,

an
unstitched
wound-

this city,
a pulse.

This asphalt sighs
itself back
into my mouth-

makes room for the influx
of
sewer water-

this city,

all those catacombs, (where else can we bury
those empty shells?)
We exhume those
bodies
but that blood
don’t wash
out.

We don’t put rat traps
in the subway
no more.

We let them live among us.

Buildings baptized in
rainwater, in
backslide torrents of snow.

this city,

black with the smoke

of the living.

By Gracie Fuhrman

Biography:

Gracie Fuhrman is a high school student from Arkansas. She is a co-founder of Arkansas Youth Mag and strives to find her place among the literary world while helping other aspiring poets do the same.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s