365 Days of Poetry: Day Ninety-Six

the end of Sunday.
the finale of the week.
a respite, a silence.
a time to think first.
filled this time–
by cold competition.
the deep quiet.
is not quite here.
the train growls through.
sounding the bells of sleep,
in this small town.

an old house.
also had the peace.
that signals the turn.
of another seven days.
it was not punctuated.
by even a rumble.
the city needs to die.
a small death.
to pulse another round.


About June Faramore

Writer of fantasy, mainstream, and young adult fiction. Poet and sketcher. Mother. I read a lot and love cheese. Guitar playing singer-songwriter. I also enjoy stepping on the cracks in the sidewalk. View all posts by June Faramore

this side, that side

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