Her feet stepped in stride. 
Heels clicked into melody 
too painful for words; she stepped over cracks 
to get where she was going. 

Back and forth along open, jagged concrete lines
catching dark pain 
and deceit. 
Bodies, malice and time;
soaks and seeps into open cracks until a tomorrow 
shows up again. 

Didn’t she know?

I stood over the cracks with her.  
My pleas and warnings fell into them too. 
Maybe they mingled with the rest 
in the black 
dancing at least for a moment 
before the cold burn turned 
them to frost. 

I’d like to think so.  

That day came;
she and her heels were gone. 
Her body 
lay over the cracks 
wide open; they catch last breaths too. 

Down; the open, jagged concrete lines 
cupped salty water 
falling from jawline; 
in the dark. 

The cracks tasted them. 

Swallowed them. 

Not even tears—mine—
do the cracks let you keep.



[This poem was published in Fathom Magazine; placed second in their first poem competition in Fathom's Issue 5/Arrival: ]

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