July Sunset

Here I am. I’ve been retooled.
My leather’s hammered on the inside

to look like stardust, jewels
or firechips strayed

from a metalsmith’s ignited hand.
Outside I’m cool and smooth,

sopped in light, propped here
in the glare before dark.

My father’s gone 
under yesterday’s rain.

My mother is climbing her frayed 
rope to the Milky Way.

She’s hoisting her sails
for the dry-eyed galaxies.
Susan Kelly-DeWitt | Mudlark No. 38
Contents | The Limbo Suite