Skip to main content

Grey Sparrow Journal

Issue 30, July 31, 2017
Home
Contents
Biographies
Submissions
Archives
Editors
Contact Us
Publications
Policies

Dark Room



 

At dusk, bats murmurate low,

last Liquid Amber leaves fall as if to music,

star patterns punch through clouds

and I search for my own shape

in the composition. 

 

I know the room will be dark

without the moon and pain will wriggle

slowly like a snake. What season is it?

and I hardly know, just that light feels

far off  and unrelated

 

to any solstice, irrespective of day

and night. When rain stings my city roof

I picture inundated paddocks rescued

from the drought out west,

dust becoming mud,

 

proof that pendulums eventually

swing when they’re ready,

that my wings are merely folded

bat-like between strokes of flight

in a hidden design.


           -Jane Frank