In that said-same second
between
life and death,
a child is born to a
woman—
not quite ready.
Ribbons are awarded
to winners of the
McCarthy County Spelling Bee.
A bottle of bubbly is
popped
in Paris,
while a man in Colorado is
sentenced
to prison (though innocent of his crime).
The world contemplates,
realigns its incongruities
among a misaligned universe,
tentatively raises the shade on morning
and blows out the candle—
signaling night.
The moon
swings
low.
The second
between
life and death is an unending continuum,
one that does not decipher laughter from tears
or as in this passage—
poetry from prose.
Keith Hoerner (BS, MFA) lives, teaches, and pushes words around in Southern Illinois, USA. He is no stranger to lit mags and will publish his memoir, The Day The Sky Broke Open, with Adelaide Books in 2021. Additionally, he is the founding editor of the popular online lit mag The Dribble Drabble Review: highlighting little nature in 50 and 100 words.
