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 Dec 2020 Dawnstar
b e mccomb
there’s an open
wound on main street
and i wish people would
stop asking about it
because every question pulls
the hole a little wider

something was always
just a little bit

a constant drip
in the fridge

a fruit fly trapped
in the bake case

missing corners
of floor tiles

pictures hanging
slightly crooked

one foot of a table
unscrewed to a wobble

the rattle
of the heater

smiles from those
i couldn’t trust

a tiny pinprick of
stress behind my eyes

every year was
the year that would
make it or break it

so nobody was
except those who
couldn’t see the scuffs

last year
things were supposed
to be so good
everyone talking
mad **** about their
incredible ideas

i had a few
ideas of my own
nobody ever had to
teach me how to
dream big
overexert myself
and fall hard

the quiche crusts stuck
to the bottoms of pans

and there was no way to
get the slice out
without the whole entire
thing falling apart

i might have been
the first slice to go

but at least i got
out of there

before the hand that
pulled me out
was the hand that
dropped the pan

a glass pie plate
shattered and
the way things were
supposed to be suddenly


and i’m still
on the sidewalk
staring at the
empty shell of
something i once loved

big hopes
big dreams
big plans
small town
too small to
hold them all

every piece of my
future points
arms of a clock
working their way
into the past

it’s not in how
the damage was done
but in how you
heal from it

there’s an
open wound on
main street
maybe if we gave
south street stitches
we could pull it closed

but still i question
my existence as if
scones and coffee
and thursday mornings
before sunup were
the only things that
gave me

they were

maybe people
pull themselves into
an orbit around that
which keeps them grounded

an orbit of
routine and the
dissonance needed
to stir ice cubes
in a plastic cup
to create peace
in the moment
of chaos

or maybe
the one place
that always felt
like home to me
was just a cafe
on the four corners
and now there’s
an open wound
not so much
on main street
but the pocket of my
heart where hope lives
copyright 2/17/20 by b. e. mccomb
Candy floss sweet pink
The vendor skilled at the job
Years of happiness
oh lord
i promise to be good
and true to my word
i promise to look people in the eye
and treat them with the respect they deserve
i promise to try harder
be stronger
and less fragile
grant me this plea
this prayer in the stillness of my heart
just give me one more day to live
one last chance to see the sun set
one final chance to make amends
and say all that twists itself tight in my throat
i beg you to spare me
i thought i wanted death
i wanted it so badly my lips were bitter with tears
it seemed better than facing the world
it seemed easier than facing myself
and the ones i claim to love (yet hurt so badly)
wouldn't everyone be happier
if i just disappeared
into the night
onto the welcoming cement so far below
it beckoned me
it is only when i struggle to draw breathe
that it hits
and ravages whats left of me
i realize i wanted to grow old
and watch my children prosper
i wanted to stare out at the world one day
and smile at what i saw
i wanted to live for all that i was to gain
and lose
so what if it hurt
so what if i was broken
so what if it was hard
it was still a gift
one that i had wasted so thoughtlessly
if you are there
do not judge me when i come before you
i wanted wanted reprieve and looked for it in all the wrong places
and it was my demise
Esther L. Krenzin
A wandering souls lament
 May 2020 Dawnstar
 May 2020 Dawnstar
what if we weren't
so bound by time
what if, like the universe
our thoughts,
our memories were linear
burning, alive and electric.
what if we could swim
between what has been
and what is yet to come,
would our moments
underneath a summer moon
where our souls bled
and our demons danced
be the ones you go back to?
- this routine is all too familiar.
four letter word challenge*

beat that gong
toll that bell
bent into song
sent to hell

hips have push
sigh over hour
lips live lush
lies gone sour

hand over fist
**** your eyes
cold hard cash
**** your lies

girl into gold
gold into rust
girl, once sold

turn into dust*

Make a poem with
four letter words only
Post on #four-letter-word

Gold Dust Woman
Fleetwood Mac

 May 2020 Dawnstar
i scrape out dirt that one
can’t see with the naked eye
from underneath my nails
out of anxiousness
needing to feel
the keratinized layers add
femininity to me
cleaning them out
twice more
nine times more
seventeen times more
i pull my hands away and stare
at the chipped clear polish and
savagely push back the cuticles

forgive me for i have forgotten what love feels like
tastes like
and looks like,
so even if i were to stumble into her on the street after all this dies down
i wouldn’t even recognize her
nor have the slightest idea on how to keep her

 May 2020 Dawnstar
protective styles
coiled with split-end balm
skate for 20 minutes
oil to the scalp after brushing
you're so beautiful
you're understanding
and grateful

we need detaching
to remember our presence
valuing life
fluidity and it's grace
piping lemon water
it burns the lip but it's good for you
leaving **** on the back of the tongue
valuing nunchi
mindful breathing
and not letting anything rob you of your power
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