Flight 214 - Poem by Sally Bliumis-Dunn
The news is still falling
in our kitchen
like invisible rain
as we eat the pink salmon,
the lettuce, the mashed potatoes.
Because now everything
glistens. The candles, the soft
folds of red napkins
each in its place,
as though it all were sacred—
must still be falling.
Not me, not anyone I know.
Earlier in the day, the terrible
news lifted too easily,
a cheap Mylar balloon
cut loose—a tinny flash.
Couldn't even tell its color
against the sky.
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Sally Bliumis-Dunn's Other Poems
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
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I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You