by Spencer Smith

Published in Issue No. 248 ~ January, 2018

I am not the only one who feels

light waning in the high heat of day,

darkness peering around the backside of the sun,

anxious to make its appearance.


I am not the only one who feels

the weight of shadows pressing bruises into the earth,

ever slower to heal

in the tiredness of repetitive experience.


But do you also feel

blackness crouching beneath your clothing,

sifting itself out like carbon dust

to hover around you in windless cold?


Do you also feel

murky fingers grasping through your organs,

reaching to smother

the last dim glow of your heart?


Dusk arrives ever earlier.

Soon dawn will die in its sleep.

account_box More About

Spencer Smith is a University of Utah graduate and works in the corporate world to pay the bills that poetry doesn’t pay (i.e., all of them). His work has appeared in over forty literary journals, including Main Street Rag, Potomac Review, Plainsongs, RHINO, and Roanoke Review.