Abate. Poem by Maya Garza

Halt -
No crossroads here.
I could go back to where I couldn't pick.
To where signs were plentiful.
Choices, not so adamant.
The sordid simplicity of smitten smiles,
Serrated on marble.
Bernini's own, reduced to ashen marble graves,
Where not even the dead lie.
The booming sets off an inward cringe; the salty dew of sorrow.
The fog clouded view of a faraway park,
Where laughter sounds more like
Cackles.
The edge of my vision looms,
As well as my consciousness.

6/10/09