Centrifugal – Day 7

I’m exquisite shards of a certain cut rage,
a sloped shed where the sluice of rain
becomes icebergs in the dead of summer,
upturned daisies with charred stems and
smoke signals for petals with a northern breeze,
a thousand pages of an unread book, earmarked,
unabridged in longhand that most will never read…
That’s me. Rib cage ripped wide open—but the
bluebird still sings, and sings, and sings. That’s the thing…

© Grace Black

Write Yourself Alive – 30 Days of Writing  #writeyourselfalive 

Today is Day 7 of WYA 

Love and Ink,
Grace