cucumbers from Chicago

i used to take pictures from airplane windows.
high above the horizon
colors dipping below
the pillow of clouds
but i can no longer focus on the blurry wing and granite sky.

the man in first class pens perfect calligraphy
with a fancy fountain pen.
the paper filled with geometric dots,
but i have only learned how to read handwriting.

the character in the book i am reading,
written by a kid wiser than i’m wise enough to admit,
said that beautiful stories make him sad
because nothing is beautiful and honest.
the story must not have been true.


About ky

Poet. Photographer. Writer. Goddess. View all posts by ky

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