Page 33 - Solstice Art & Literary Magazine 2021
P. 33
THE th HOUR
GRACE FAN
The 25th hour.
They thought it impossible, Like my existence.
But I was there.
A mannequin they dressed accordingly, Suffocating in the harsh light of judgement. My inky silhouette cast on the ground.
With locked knees,
I glared in defiance,
But they walked past treading shadows of denial. Their dark outlines skimming mine,
It was the only time they reached me.
As I rotted in shame, As dawn chased dusk,
I swept the sands of time.
What started as 1 second Became 60 seconds Then 60 minutes.
In my palm held freedom.
Clock strikes 13.
Let rise the shimmering light of destruction. You’ll cry and beg me later,
But I won’t even blink.
The witching hour descends.
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