Red Ivy
A woman from the nineteenth floor who flew through the air and shattered,
is crawling up the outer wall of the apartment to meet her four-year old son.
She feels she has nearly arrived but it’s still just one and a half floors.
Everywhere she places her palms the crimson trace is vivid.
Two years ago, immediately after the incident,
they packed up and left at midnight.
I wonder if she knows that or not.
[The 1st Asian Literature Festival 2017]
No comments:
Post a Comment