There is something in us, as storytellers and as listeners to stories, that demands the redemptive act, that demands that what falls at least be offered the chance to be restored.
Want a little magic with your reality? Coming right up...
After the Disaster
By Abigail Deutsch
New York City, 2001
One night, not long after the disaster,
as our train was passing Astor,
the car door opened with a shudder
and a girl came flying down the aisle,
hair that looked to be all feathers
and a half-moon smile
making open air of our small car.
The crowd ignored her or they muttered
“Hey, excuse me” as they passed her
when the train had paused at Rector.
read the rest here
The Poetry Friday round-up is at Random Noodling. Thanks, Diane!