by | Sep 14, 2016 | Poetry

fear of streets or of crossing the street
-inspired by Jamaal May’s Phobia sequence

When I was eleven years old, Mom
asked me to go borrow two eggs
from our neighbor across
the street, and all I could think
was that cars cannot feel bodies
on their bumpers, and streets do not care
who they take with them while they slither
north or east or south on their
ways to the sea, and lanes have twin
pits like ditches that pull us away until
we reach the ocean, and the yellow
dashes down the middle should be red,
like when I ran across and the asphalt was
a stickpin on my bare feet and the blood
on my legs stroked upward not down,
and in that moment I knew that death
is a river but dying is a road
with a pit running down the middle,
bottlenecking my breath until the ditch crumbles
into a waterfall and the highway
lifting my legs feels like a forgiveness.




Photo Road by Cary Elizabeth Liberman used under Creative Commons License (by-nc-sa-2.0)

About The Author

Anna Ralls

Anna Ralls is an emerging writer living in Columbia, MO. She is editor-in-chief for the Columbia College Literary Review and is the recipient of the 2016 Thelma Hall Prize in Creative Writing. Her works have appeared or are forthcoming in Cave Region Review​​, Contrary, Halfway Down the Stairs, and Always A Spark. Her lifelong ambition is to one day become a meme.