matt pond PA

March 31, 2018

Blue Life.

There is no complaint, there is only stirring: eggs cracking from the inside.

Streetside ditches hum with restless, racing heartbeats. Sentimental truths, unashamed, scatter and sprint through tall, dew-heavy grass, thereupon bent empty paths. First life dwells beneath the ground, under the ShopRite circular enshrouding an empty orange soda bottle.

Up above, moon and sun share a few blue minutes together. The brief commingling is seen from a second floor window, displayed below in a flat bright puddle. A static piece of misshapen glass, refreshing brown water with an oil-slick rainbow on top.

A traffic light clicks and cycles, hues yellow, red and green. One eye sees, two eyes elaborate into full spectrum. Nakedness doesn’t have to hide from cold or light anymore. Hallway human still life from the bed, to the bathroom, back to bed.

Six am on a Saturday. A quiet so hopeful that it would be unfair to keep it to myself.