Saturday morning, the Park and Ride
is sunlight, scattered cars,
skeletal lines of parking spaces,
and a flock of small black birds
exploding as the bus pulls out
and dissipates
before we’re on the highway.
This is happening all over
and the sunlight, somehow, is calm.
As if it had expected nothing less.

Yet Another Miracle by JB Mulligan
Keep reading
PoetryExpectations by Grace Lu
expectations are a dangerous game prefacing 2 a.m. thoughts 4 a.m. wakes 6 a.m. alarms and 8 a.m. lattes always expecting something out of nothing but getting nothing out of everything expecting…
PoetryRituals by Carol Hamilton
Rituals They give our lives meaning we laughed to each other at sunset as we again raised the bear safe at timberline and suddenly realized no bear was likely at that altitude.…
PoetryLove in A Time of Rubble By G. Louis Heath
The press of shattered steel, glass, and other shiny modern Detritus fills him with pain unimaginable as his fingers grope For connection under the rubble. He cannot see. His heart flutters Wildly,…
PoetryHenry By Lowell Jaeger
Not much , I say when my wife asks if I think about loved ones gone to their graves. She’s jolted with sorrow, she says, in a crowd when her grandmother’s eyes…