The Muse

(An International Journal of Poetry)

ISSN 2249 2178

 

Volume-2                                              JUNE -2012                                                    Number-1

 

 

 

Yellow Sand
by Holly Day


we load up our post-apocalyptic fortunes
of flower bulbs and bright-colored beads
take to the road. tilted blue street signs
of dead civilizations mark the path
streets built wide enough for ox-carts
crumble under our feet.

sunlight glints through the hollowed-out eyes
of battered skyscrapers that loom like mausoleums
for headless mannequins wearing scant threads of fashions
forgotten long before the end of the world.



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       Sunset
by Holly Day

we watch the bombs bloom through the windows
pass the potatoes, turkey, corn
say grace over tightly-clenched hands

here is our peace.

through the windows, the sky grows dark, then red
we turn up the gas on the propane lamps
clear the dinner table, light a fire

spread blankets over the children, falling asleep.

the sky grows dark, then red, then black
the window glass glistens against the heat
I lay next to my husband, put my head on his chest

close my eyes and make one last little wish.

 

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