Erin Armstrong’s Poetry

Jun 29, 2017 by

Erin Armstrong’s Poetry

The Red Crane

When you move
through the world
of indecision, it is easy
to forget what you already knew:
The red crane stretches its neck toward
a sky of black, a moment not
recoverable, untouched by the fearful,
the wary who see the spiral of desire, deceit:
Who will write this story?
Outside the coffee shop I see
the underbelly of a world
we choose to ignore,
to avert our gaze: meth heads, addicts,
those who, like us,
wander up
and down
a sidewalk of pain.
As I watch them
meander, I think:
this is the place where romance
should die, yet it breeds itself
like a disease multiplying,
the voices grow louder
with desperation, crying
to be heard, acknowledged—
yearning for a tight embrace.
Outside on our own
pavement of anguish
I feel the space of the vulnerable
wrap itself around us
like a noose. I wonder
who will pull it from under
our feet until our relationship
hangs, suspended in air,
on a rope so tethered
we will hang forever
before death.

Erin Armstrong’s work has been published in several magazines, and is forthcoming in Fiction Southeast and Lost Magazine; when she’s not writing, she teaches and plays ultimate frisbee.

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