grasshopper
by Linda M. Crate
you’re that cracked mirror,
you’re that seven years bad
luck that clings like moss —
you’re all the nightmares
coming true in whispers of
the night; you’re living for
no one, you’re nothing —
you will blow away in the
mouth of the sky, you’ll be
scattered like dandelion dust;
you cursed everyone that met
you with memories that will
linger longer than you do.
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Linda M. Crate is a poet based in Pennsylvania. She welcomes your comments at veritaserumvial[at]hotmail.com.
photo by Jeremy Martin
