Dwight Gray

You know the ending. And it’s coming
sooner rather than later. Your body scatters.
A light breeze could pull you apart.
Flight in all its directions dizzying.

The conclusion of what began as pushing 
through, finding the crack in the concrete, 
where you witnessed children drawing suns 
in chalk on the hard surface, and more than 
one stumble, leaving pieces of skin nearby.

You heard it at its worst, 
city anger condensed in the sound
of slammed doors shaking the ground;
when this life started some walked over as if you
didn’t exist and when it became clear
that you did, they said you shouldn’t.

Tomorrow carries its own weight.
Petals thinning, greying, still brilliant
against dead winter grass and broken ground,
you, afraid of what waits,
but standing just the same.

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