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Jessica Purdy

The days seem to be ending
even as they begin—

do you know what I mean,
when you’re driving and the sun hacks

through leafless trunks
their shadows seem like an attack

or does the light
just hit the eye at the most defenseless angle

aggressive yellow not just a color but an ending
indicator, a preliminary warning

not of caution so much
as an obligatory direness, tired as a fist held too long

not warm as in goldleaf,
honey or even the cold daffodils of last spring

and after defending against such glare
the loneliest feeling comes?

1 Comment

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  1. As Jessica’s Mom, I will try to be as objective as possible!
    Growing up she always had markers, paint and pencils in her hand.
    I am just amazed at how her talent with art comes through in her poetry! I have told her numerous times, “honey you paint with words.” There is a difference however. There is movement from line to line as she takes the reader on an emotional journey to a desired end!
    So proud of her…Mom

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