At Halftime

By
using the rhythmical
marching ants
as her guide, my sister
pirouettes away
from life’s box
for her, breaking the seal
of college classes, a waitressing job


the doorway eyes
of her musical
haven flash “hello” as

painted lips
transform to curved hints of
what’s inside the motions
that give her breath

stanzas culminate, percussion’s
beats reverberate
off the stadium’s
inhabitants, who quickly click their third
eyes—snatching fading moments
of pulsing personality

magic broken, she returns
to one of many, to her familiar
stature a reminder of
vibrant normality





Post a Comment

Be the first to comment on this article!

bRealTime banner ad on the left side
Site Feedback