by Wendy L. Hammond

I will not touch the walls,
although the hallways are narrow
and sloping.

Sometimes I fall
then lie there broken,
sometimes I stand upright,
very still, very frozen,
and when the moment is right
if I am feeling balanced,
I move one foot ahead of
the other.

But tonight the window is
cracked and I am acting
the part of a statue.
The breeze is blowing
and I am stone cold,
folded in half.

The last breath I took
didn't even fog the glass.


Wendy L. Hammond lives in Michigan and is a published poet. Her poems have
appeared in various journals, magazines, e-zines and anthologies.


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