ALMOST HEAVEN | Elizabeth Tobin

The asphalt of summer stood still.
Swum the deep end of mother’s disease
and dreamed of dangling from telephone wires,
calling the world to watch from under the table.

Swam in the deep end of mother’s disease
in panic like a kitchen curtain fire.
Calling the world to watch from under the table,
the sun laid down its bones on Grammy’s porch.

In panic like a kitchen curtain fire,
secrets shimmy down skin like sweat.
The day surrenders to streetlight and
chipped teeth play football in the street.

Secrets shimmy down skin like sweat.
Fire hydrant calls home from hollow.
Chipped teeth play football in the street.
June bug skeletons break their graves.

Fire hydrant calls home from hollow in
the morning sounds of father gone.
June bug skeletons break their graves
and the asphalt of summer stands.

—–

Elizabeth Tobin lives in Medford, Massachusetts. She is a firm believer that experience is content and writes with her voice. She enjoys blogging about street style and the importance of language as a matter of character. She hopes to move any direction but north east. http://www.thestyleunderdog.com

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Vagabond City Literary Journal

Founded in 2013, we are a literary journal dedicated to publishing outsider literature. We publish art, poetry, and creative nonfiction from marginalized creators.

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