When the sky looks like smoke
and the storm’s edge stands
at the precipice of the city
and the curtains shake
with anxiety as flower petals
and trash dance in whirlwinds
above the street with sparrows
and squirrels retreating
to their deep tree trunk hiding dens
and the rain’s laughter
can be heard even over loud music
and there’s a cancer growing
in the air in metastatic torrents
and doom’s breath gusts
wind like angry prayers
and soil turns to lifted ash
and desolation’s face remains
glued into the earth
then, only then will I know
if sunlight is real
and not some illusion
I misinterpret with my eyes.
Sean Lynch is a poet and editor who lives in South Philadelphia. Recent poems appear in Hobart, Meow Meow Pow Pow, and SurVision Magazine. He's the founding editor of Serotonin and the Program Director of the Nick Virgilio Writers House, in Camden, NJ. Find him on Twitter @seanlynchpoet