Tonight's Poet Corner: Orange

Orange
by Belinda Roddie

Honestly, I thought sunsets
were meant to be beautiful.

Instead, the streaks across
the once pristine sky
made me sick to my stomach
and formed crystal around
my already tired eyes.

Sunsets were when Father
barbecued, and I drank
iced tea with Mother, and I

didn't have to worry
one second
about the next day,
or the day after that,
or my own fucking mortality.



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