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It’s a bleak day,
my hair blown everywhere
but covering my face.

That somber that folds
a soul like accordion
creases, song seeping into marrow.

Crinkling as if a
god had the power
to smooth them,

to lull a restless
day roving through
alleys and parks like
a diminutive sax.

And twilight
when the sun feels fragile,
leaving ecstasy
to night’s carousel
and sequins.


Elizabeth York Dickinson received her MFA in writing from Sarah Lawrence College. Her poetry and photography have appeared in Gravel, Foliate Oak, Kissing Dynamite, Royal Rose, Ghost City Press, Riggwelter and Ink in Thirds, among others. She currently resides in Evanston, Illinois. Follow her on Twitter @aworldwanderer.

© 2019, Elizabeth York Dickinson

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