Brood by Erica Sternin

Photo: rithban

Photo: rithban

Boarded door, tumbling steps,
“Do not enter here.”
A life in ruins, one rusted link above another,
The porch swing crookedly faces verdant meadows.

Juicy grasses pulse there,
Succulent as ever.

Standing on the cracked porch,
This vitreous moment
Flickers once, twice.
On/off: a transformer blowing.

And now every pedicle glitters darkly;
An undulating field of jet and sapphire,

Dragonflies  birthed for flight.


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