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Ella
McCrystle
On a
Saturday Night,
Alone in the Snow
I
hear a cat sneeze and look at the clock.
9:41.
No word from Tom.
Outside
the city is being hushed by snow,
flakes
revealed through flashing blue and red.
A
crime or accident? Police fly through the night
and
the snow continues to fall.
I
want to leave the my simple perch, become
part
of the flurry and glaring red lights. Cars streak
by,
and someone rides the bus home. Has that hidden
loved
one, shrouded inside the #11, called home?
My
Escort's tires are balding. I'm out
of
meds, afraid to go into the surge. Once there,
I
may remember the phone doesn't ring, get
caught
in slickness again, spin out of control,
become
just a brief unnoticed thud -- amidst
radiant
carbon that swirls through the snow.
29 January 2005, round
II, poem 21
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Ella McCrystle
scribbles notes
others insist on calling poems and often inappropriately breaks into
song. Most recent poetry published online: Ligature
, on paper:
Citizen32, and anthologized: MiPoesias
Bonsai Project 2004. A co-editor of The Hiss Quarterly,
Ella's
poetry news and archive is Invoking
the Serpent.
E-mail:
Ella McCrystle
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