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Challenge 3 Night Pending in Southbridge

Challenge 3 Night Pending in Southbridge
By Cervantes on 02/09/2012
Viewed: 201
Reviews: 1
Inspired by Prelude of Black Drapes by Edward Hirsch

Prelude of Black Drapes

Now the city deepens in smoke,
now the darkness raises a withered hand
and the night begins, like a prelude,
in real earnest. This is the music

that hurries pedestrians home
and follows a fading breath of ashes
out of the faded commuter stations.
Slowly the bridges open their arms

over the river and the cars
fan out in the mist like a peacock''s
feathers, or a deck of luminous cards
dealt into shadows. This is the hour

when the tugs slide into their cells
and the gates snap shut behind them, when
prisoners stare at their blank ceilings
and the windows are bolted in factories.

Some of us remember the moon:
it is a tarnished silver ball worn
into our memories, a faint smudge
of light rubbed into the heavy fog.

In this city even the ginkgoes
turn up their collars in self-protection
while the buildings stiffen like hills
against the wind. And as we hurry home

in the cold, in our separate
bodies, it takes all our faith to believe
these black drapes, this curtain of ash
will ever rise again in the morning

Night Pending in Southbridge

And the Devil built the ground
into the swollen sky
for all the choirs to curse
with heavenly charm

This is an honest recording
of the Jay-Walkers rush
into traffic without means
of public transport to carry
their bag of bones to their doors

But the streets run like water anyway
Tiny canals rushing through the heart
of our bustling community
to gnash the teat of nature
with its elderly teeth. This is the hour

the prisoners leap from their day jobs
and bolt the factory doors behind them
praying to find some picture on the wall
that entertains them

We pray for a light
a moon, a guide through the shadows
worn into our collective memories
between the liquor stores and bars
around us

This is the city where all the shop lights
show hope to all of us begging
for warmth in the street
and the buildings wail for another life

Knowing every unknown face we pass
by knowing ourselves we steep
a familiar consciousness among us
that night will raise the black curtain
that the world will turn
until day returns to our theatre
as a classic Broadway production

By Cervantes On 2/9/2012 10:50:17 AM
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