Wednesday, March 26, 2014


artwork: ralph murre

by Maureen Hand

The sun’s crisp rays crawl through that pane of dust
and dreams and point straight at the glaring glue
stuck on the green and gold wallpapered wall.
I remember when it first unfurled some
years ago, and I thought I could restick
it. With the grace of a gazelle, I climbed
to the top of the ladder. I spread the
glue, caressed the wound, and coaxed, but it would
not adhere, and you announced, “It’s too late,”
as glue oozed out like blood, and you just shook
your head. I should have known when it first pulled
away. I should have known it would be hard
to fix. I should have known some rips tear for
a reason. Now, that glitter of glue smirks
like a scar that is no longer bleeding.

~ first published in FLUTTER POETRY REVIEW