Stratford Quarterly Issue 2

Page 8

Kenneth Pobo Waiting For It Darkness skins its knees— suddenly there’s morning. The sun prods with gold pitchforks. Raylene walks out into the light waiting for a revelation, a bus scheduled to arrive, but it never does. A black butterfly, blue on the bottom of both wings, grabs a sunflower. This is the moment! It flies away. A cloud rolls up torn sleeves and glowers.

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