Heard From Here

I pull the dirtied string, the window nude,

Stripping left blind higher, faster than right.

Space well-hidden between homes exposes

A tree stuck thin between the house cracks.

 

Laughter unleashed into streets, hyenas

Howling at the moon from the pavement.

A year ago my laugh was with these above,

Our sound in unison with pitch and tone.

 

It is a song best sung together. But now

Depression sings the taste of sour grapes.

Here, dried fruit falls from vines onto the floor,

Ants circling around the concord spheres.

 

I can still hear those laughs from here. Yet

If I push myself, it’s only back to sleep.

 

–Elizabeth Lacey

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