Keyhole by Ziggy Edwards
It's my prerogative while dumb and still young
to pull off dangerous feats such as biking
the park trail at night, luxuriating in
the new absence of a worrier at home.
"I see you," I tell a man's blur of plaid shorts
as I slow, and think it's the most comfort one
human can give another. Albino trees
in my wavering beam—I keep that keyhole
on the path as best I can. I encounter
only a cat-sized, seemingly three-legged
shape chimping across the gravel far ahead,
far enough to leave off my brake. It has been
an unaccountably hard day that found me
compelled to read those last emails, sifting for
insight—how could it happen, why am I glad?
So far, I choose the adventures I'll survive.
Ziggy Edwards is the proud owner of a loft bed. She lives in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. Her poems and short stories have appeared (or will appear) in publications including 5 AM, Grasslimb, Main Street Rag, Illumen, and Dreams and Nightmares.