The years dropped off like
brittle leaves, crab-walking
sideways in scuttle,
windblown and pocked.

I heard the crunch underfoot,
on peppermint gum splattered
sidewalks, dusted in
yesterday’s hopscotch.

Freckled moons have lit
the way home and
I return tired from rotation,
wary of gravity’s push and pull.

Where did my childhood dog
go to die when his hips
no longer straightened and
his labored breath wheezed?

I find a good place to sit,
across from a post stapled
with pictures and descriptions,
waiting for my phone to ring,
or not.



About the Poet:
Sabrina Hicks lives in Phoenix, Arizona. Her works
has appeared in Writer’s Digest, The Drabble and on
her blog, sshicks.wordpress.com.




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