Robert Crisp
Afterimage
An excuse for a man made a decision
that radiated outward like lines
of a lightning flash, inch-thick, pure white,
50,000 degrees arching across miles and miles
of heaven as the rest of us watched from below.
It was over in a second, but the afterimage
burned inside our eyelids for weeks, struck
our children with nightmares, and scorched the inside
of ancient caves where we huddled thousands
of years ago, explaining lightning as best we could.
Robert Crisp currently hides out in Savannah, GA, where he teaches English. He writes poetry as often as he can. Learn more at www.writingforghosts.com
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