I just wrote this. Some flash poetry. Have a good night. C.A. <3
Shell
I believe that it all began with the wind. Secretly,
for years, I felt the lift, whether harsh or gentle,
and I wrote to an audience of one hidden inside
hundreds. Wrapped tight, I knew the turtle’s shell.
Today, my words linger somewhere between
the breeze, the thunder, the ice, and the sun,
but the winter storm is coming, and the work
is done. Two days off, and I have no son.
I peer out, stretching my neck, staring at the strange
sky, searching for a cloud-shaped megaphone.
You see, all of this. Photographs, books, short
stories, essays, poems. Morning God thoughts.
Trips, sightings, shows, moments, flashes
of hope and later, silence. You see, all of this.
This is all. From my art, I have learned nothing.
Tonight, I believe it begins with the wind,
and I will sing to an audience of one hidden
inside hundreds. Wrapped tight, I know
the turtle’s shell.
C.A. MacConnell
