I was alive the moment love blew past like a storm
We held hands in a green park
and talked
Then, in the wind, we sat on a bench, loath to look away
We held hands in a green park
and talked
Then, in the wind, we sat on a bench, loath to look away
I was alive at the moment of his death
a storm
He stood over me, smiled, laughed,
and talked
Then swirled away in a fury of emotion never to be untangled
I was alive at the moment of her death
a storm
She walked with me, shy, unsure
and talked
Then skidded away on a blacktop soaked with oil-slick storm water
I was alive at the moment of heartbreak
a storm
Fighting the urge to cry, we laughed
and talked
Then ran until our legs hurt, away
to places where you don’t look back
I was alive in the quiet moments of new life
a storm
Rocking you all in my arms, fragile, we sang
and talked
And you roared ahead, on down the curving path
postcards don’t do justice
Benjamin Kirby
Benjamin J. Kirby, 53, is a writer living in St. Petersburg, Florida. Benjamin has been published in Neptune, Suspended Magazine, the 2024 Florida Bards Poetry Anthology, and much more.