not the vase of water, nor the flowers
held close around its lip. It is the frost
blossoming on your window, the hours
it takes for a candle to weep. What’s lost
is merely daylight. Each star a pinhole
camera capturing what you meant to
say over the phone before a pause, whole
notes of a song you were sure you knew,
couldn’t remember as it entered
your ears. Though far away, the roads weave us
together. I am a reminder
wound on the finger. A belief in trust
does not mean we are done asking questions,
but live more simply with their intentions. —Shane Chergosky
Creative Corner is a new regular column in Plymouth Magazine where we’ll share poetry and excerpts of other written art from community members. Have something you think is publish-worthy? Send your Creative Corner entry for consideration, along with a bio (and, ideally, photograph) of the author, to plymouthmag@tigeroak.com, subject line: Creative Corner.
