Vicky W. Salazar Poems

What happens when one is the victim standing
out in the front yard like a mangy old dog
and the heart cries: Don't slam the door, let
me in. I'm not the enemy you think I've been.
...

Ephemeral and evanescent
his life lived in the mist
days ebbing, slipping in and out,
of rosy hues, golden dawns
...

This barrier stolid
oh how I long to
chisel, chisel away
ice cold stone
...