Friday 5 May 2023

1 Poem by Alexa Murray


In the photo I am small, hair
disheveled, in a glossy blouse
and black dress pants, looking
out over the grey fields, juxtaposing
the smallness of childhood
with the vastness of the world.

It was a fine place to grow.
Back home, the hills rolled down
to the trees, the lake, and beyond
the highway whirred gently
behind the soundwall.
At night, the sky
burned red above the jagged tree line
and the deer came out to nose
their heads above
the concrete porch.
The pool out back was too
abandoned and mossy and filled
with life to use, but the expanse
of the front yard was open for kite
flying on cloudy days,
field of white clover and grass resting below muddied light.

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