9 January 2009 | Vol. 8, No. 4
Alien park across the street is usually
quiet, secretive, cloaked in evergreen.
Tonight, lightening amps the A-frames,
tilts the drone of my fridge and A/C—
surrounded by the daily buzz,
wonder if I percolate to the same
watt-worn beat. Lights go out,
storm pruning the trees, dark kitchen
good for thinking how too many shallow
currents run me. Another hot metal limbo,
summer's trace of a bigger disconnect—
I'm an unjuiced joule in a control-building
universe, silent in the shadows,
rain dripping silver off the eaves.
About the author:
Sally Molini is a freelance writer whose work has appeared or is forthcoming in LIT, Beloit Poetry Journal, the MacGuffin, Siren, Hanging Loose, Stirring, Avatar Review, Segue, 32 Poems, and elsewhere. A graduate of Warren Wilson College's MFA Program, she's currently working on a first book. She lives in Nebraska.