It’s like condemning the sky
for being blue; though never
spoken, your name flits
through my head, like a bird
that got into the house.
Nothing can drown us,
stop our breath like
the undeniable strangeness
of the familiar.
For why – why must the
familiar play a game
of spades,
with the free heart.
My sister,
everything was plastic
and your name’s uninvited
presence hung over me
like that blue sky,
crushing the world into a ball
with its heaviness.
—
Michael T. Smith is an Assistant Professor of English who teaches both writing and film courses. He has published over 150 pieces (poetry and prose) in over 80 different journals. He loves to travel.
Alpha Female Society. 