grow up the legs of night.
My backpack is filled
with lint and stale biscuits.
Three times I call out,
Night, This Is Your Last Chance!
But there is no answer.
There is always a flame to walk toward.
There is always a hammer.
There is always the wind.
In dreams, I walk on a path
that sparkles in the moonlight.
In dreams, my backpack is a cage of light.
In dreams, I call out to the night,
and it answers.
Suzanne O’Connell’s recently published work can be found in Forge, Atlanta Review,
Crack The Spine, The Louisville Review, Found Poetry Review, Chiron Review, The Hollins Critic, and Burningword Literary Journal among others. She lives in Los Angeles. O’Connell was nominated for The Pushcart Prize and for a Best Of The Net Award in 2015. Her first poetry collection A Prayer for Torn Stockings was published by Garden Oak Press in May 2016.