Lisa DeSiro
Ceiling without a Star
(after Sylvia Plath’s “Child”)
Think spring. The sky at dusk that particular
shade of deep clear blue on
a particular evening I startled two
rabbits while walking home. The first
crouched still as a statue.
The second quick-bunny-hopped away.
I wanted to touch their soft
ears and paws. The way a child wants
something gentle and warm
held close at bedtime. That sky
stretched itself wide. I imagined it as
the skin of heaven. Or maybe
a tent, a tarp
protecting us and our
little
earth. The moon a bulb
switched on,
our night-light.
Lisa DeSiro is the author of the poetry collectionsHer publications include Labor (Nixes Mate, 2018) and Grief Dreams (White Knuckle Press, 2017), as well as several poems in journals and anthologies. She works for a non-profit organization and is an assistant editor for Indolent Books. She is also a freelance accompanist. Read more at thepoetpianist.com.
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