Lift up the ledge,
an alarm sounds.
“Don’t do that dear.”
Arm of grape vines entwine.
Reflections reminds me
I’m a prisoner,
been looking through
the same pane
going on a year.
Three quick taps,
he appears.
Three blond strands
behind one ear.
Through the frame of wood
a few street lights out
in our neighborhood.
Pockets deep with shadow
for young lovers to steal.
Frosted bathroom window
half the regular size,
I’m recently dried.
Squeezing damp flesh
to the other side.
No shoes. No clues.
Where am I running away to?
Bury me in a ravine, but
the squish of toes in mud
before the final click of cuffs.
The teacher opens a window
silently in prayer
waits for twenty-four
to crawl free,
“Head for the trees!”
A shepherd counting sheep,
escape is nothing new,
but before she makes it through,
the shooter’s at the door.
Artwork: Brian Holderman
Yard Sale of Thoughts 
Leave a reply to johnlmalone Cancel reply