The scale of things has been skewed
like the perspective of a man
raised without a mother.

The cliffs are bald
and there is a natural reaction
to blink against the glare, to blot

the rainbows of a distant waterfall.
A sense of falling
only birds can know,

light peeling from the sky.
Today they are flakes of paint.
Tomorrow they may be fists.


Ann Walters: writes poetry and short fiction. Her work has appeared most recently in Night Train, fourW Twenty, Fifth Wednesday Journal, The Pedestal Magazine, and many others. The recent anthologies Eating Her Wedding Dress and In the Telling included poems by Ann. She is an editor for flashquake. 

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