(It’s poetry, so nothing’s right out in the open, but I’m just going to go ahead and say TRIGGER WARNING in all caps before we delve into this one)
crickets quieting footsteps
no one thinks to question the shadows
closed doors leave behind
until the lights paint
red white and blue
across the glass:
through the cracks
the social worker
notices the spider
completing its wrap
where the buds
silently fell.
Advertisements
