Page 36 - North Star Literary & Art Magazine

The Upstairs Bedroom Window
Chelsea Van Der Munnik
Bushels of cut grass lie in the bed.
Marking the direction of moss as it screams. Ask me what way not to go,
I can be almost certain.
I fear I am seeing things that are not there. A sister being a shadow being a cat.
Glasses on, that window open,
that sun wants fog.
The strawberries would grow,
but they bleed into the earth.
Will they pray while moving down,
while clutching each other’s hair.
I can almost be certain.
34 POETRY