April 2014

In a Brief Instant She Vanished…Like a Whispered Kiss on the Fingertips

Like a northern wind disturbing
an afternoon siesta
              making me forget
the end of the dream

Like a peripheral vision
              of great grandma holding her
heart, strung to a star
              leaving drops of blood
for the stray cat to lick

Like a hobo smacking his lips
after a swig of rawness
              killing what’s left of his dignity

Like pennies in a wishing well
              drowning a child trying to steal
its riches

Like the creepy fog that gossips from
town to town
              in search of
a wailing woman
              with bite marks
on her ankles.

—Edward Vidaurre

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