By JB Mulligan
Each day takes off,
the next day lands –
like small slaps to the head.
Crouched, furry creatures
stunned by the headlights.
“Of course they’ll stop.
If they don’t, they’ll hit me.”
No deed of a boulder
to hoist up the hill:
bend and pick up a pebble,
bring it up, go back –
building the house of a life.
Yet at night, entangled,
the moon’s comforting satin
scarf draped over the sill…
we’re sturdy enough, and warm.
Let the hard winds blow
since they will.
Pray for the breeze,
soft days like moonsatin.
Category: Poetry, SNHU Creative Writing, SNHU online creative writing