Summer 2012
Table of Contents - Vol. VIII, No. 2
Poetry Fiction Translations Reviews
Mary L. Westcott
Once the pain lifted
off my chest like a balloon
tilting toward heaven,
I vowed to release what
I could not use
like those Good Will items
piling up in my closet,
collecting the dust
of centuries of toxic
molecules, resting sadly
on the floor.
Could I also let go
of old anger and new
resentments collecting
in every corner of the house?
If only I could reduce
them to ashes, sweep
the lot off the balcony,
and remodel, maybe then
the weight would never return,
I’d have a new home.
© Mary L. Westcott