line from a poem by Robin Ekiss
A sturdier frame: steel, iron, infrastructure that will not crack.
Brick, perhaps. Mortar. A mason’s sturdy, practiced hand.
Concrete veins with road signs. Bowel Boulevard. Aorta Avenue.
Sparks of firing synapse to light the always-midnight streets.
A good Chinese restaurant in the twists and turns of intestine,
a wide acre of park in the fresh air of expanding lungs.
But a city needs a populace. Children who drool to oil the joints.
Neighbors knocking on the ribcage if the heart beats too loud.
So I prepare to swallow, mouth stretched wide as city sky. I lie
still, hands resting on my belly, wait for the scaffolding to rise.
Photo by Cameron Grant
Donna
Your writing continues to inspire me to write more and more. Thanks for sharing!