Walking to Many Beats
By: Heather Sager
To dream colors when music is played.
To walk for hours,
listening
or with quiet thoughts.
The calluses of feet,
let them be
beloved.
Behind the breastbone
beats an invisible sun.
One day the pond and sky/clouds
are pastels that glow bright
as peacocks, tinted unicorns, oceans.
One day
the gritty air
blankets the neighborhood in smog.
Curse the damn asthma
and yet hope
one day, morning breaks…
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Heather Sager lives in Illinois, USA. She writes poetry and fiction. Her most recent work appears in Fahmidan Journal, Magma Poetry, Willows Wept, Red Wolf, The Fabulist, talking about strawberries all of the time, Lothlorien Poetry Journal, and more.
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