A Poem by Turner Mojica

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There was a burst of gold.
Made me squint.
Never seen nothing like it.
Over the ridge.
The edge.
It zigzagged.
The bolt cut, bright, I raised my hand to block it and it cut when it came.
Too bright.
Sparks.
Brighter.
Cut.
Zigzag.
It cracked the sky.
It came.
It rattled, the earth moved and vultures and bats and crows
scattered and cut again with black and a deep blue and howlers
and more chatter and scatter
and dogs and birds and the sky and iguanas and spiders split apart.
It opened.
Beach.
The earth moved.
All honey colored.
Got dark.
It melted.
Moths flew.

Woke up the cicadas.
She does that.
Shaking dreams from her hair.
Every morning.

Shadows four fingered and five and seven
blocking all bright all painted.
Dripping.
She just smiled all honey colored and sticky.
The thought of her.
Told me she loved me.
She lied.
Didn’t mean to.
Cut.
Deep.
She sang and left all long legs, porcelain and crickets and fireflies
and smiles soft as every orchid
and buzzing sipping nectar like all honeysuckle
and life and dancing
and I took in everything because she deserved it
and she was right
and I am the only one that saw her wings,
long, dark, with deep brown eyes
and I watched her.

As she climbed down the web.
And picked me apart.
Dark eyes.
And flew away with broken wings.
Dark eyes.

And it cut.
Deep.
And I sighed.

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