Painful
by Jay S Zimmerman
Quiet Sunday,
early morning
Sitting among
bird sounds,
last rustle
of evening cicadas,
light
creeping around trees,
She is gone
now
Leaving with
moonlight
My heart
empty
Like the
lonely birdbath
At the edge
of the garden
Void of water
Longing
Pierced by
thorns of rose bushes
stumbling
half heartedly into the day
Tears from
hollow eyes
Drunk on
loneliness
Broken from
falling
Into the
blood lilies
Memories of
her footsteps
As the wood
floors
creaked
behind her
And the
screened door
slammed shut
Bio: “I was born in the concrete
caverns of New York amid the trolley bells and sounds of subways, travelled
south to Miami Beach and thrived in the warm sands and salt air dancing to the
musical rhythms of klesmer, cha cha and bossa nova, finally venturing to the
dark soil, flat farmlands and rolling hills of the Midwest, where my roots have
grown and been nourished for over 40 years. I am an artist, photographer,
psychologist, social justice advocate and emerging writer as well as a person
continuously discovering the beauty, joy and pain in our world.”