Shower-curtain curtains. The early light soaks through,
sea-foam green, the color of the wings of the luna moth,
wings found broken underneath the streetlight
when the night had passed.
Oh New Hampshire,
let not your dawn find me so broken
after this night of hard beating
against the brightness of what I seek.
by Sarah Breisch
Original bio from the Fall 2013 edition:
Sarah Breisch has journeyed about half of our life’s way. She cannot quite fathom how she has gotten so far, while remaining unsure of the way forward. She tries not to waste too much time wondering which weight is greater—that of the past which presses from behind, or that of the future, which hangs down heavily like a tarp bulging with rain, ready to fall.
This poem first ran in the Fall 2013 edition of Grub Street Grackle