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by Sophia Vesely String six feet long. Just enough slack for you to bury me with the caskets and still have one hand grasping the leash. The other, conveniently privy to the shadows of these nights. But on those brilliant, cloudless days, you erect me in the sky at the mercy of a dance I so fiercely despise. My customary cloth ripples and undulates by the command of your wily fingers. The sun casts light and illuminates the red coloring of my fresh rage. But I’ve been watching the ocean swell, and I can smell the impending rain. I promise you… when this hurricane comes, I will billow and surge with brazen force. And your fingers will have nothing left but a shredded tether. Copyright 2020. All rights reserved.
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