I thought
My heart might die loudly–
Thunder cracking,
Lightening
Grinding stone to sand.
But–
It is quiet.
It withers
In my ribcage,
Like a heavy fog–
The last breath
Of midnight
Softly tiptoeing
Towards dawn.
More from Nichole Johnson ↓
Mentioned in this episode:
Join the mailing list to be the first to know when OPO submissions open ⬇️