Community
August 22, 2019•73 words
Tiers of dusty benches, and all those
whose skin and breath feed the film
in the flickering glow anchored
at the back of my head.
Front, back, and all in-between are
brimming with the being of everything
I've ever known, in silence still
waiting for a word.
How did we find our seats or guess
where we might belong? If only those
in front would stand and turn, shadows
dancing on their faces.