Published January 15th, 2025
by Grace Arnold
It rings in my ears – a lull, so beautifully indescribable–
I have salt in the crooks of my eyes
And I am seated at the stool at the end of the bar.
My ring finger slips, wet, from the beer label.
Notes sing from your lips–
Clanging harmonica.
Considerate, your eyes scan the wrinkled, sullen bodies in the jukebox mirror
And then you land on me.
I am trapped.
Old, worn strings, sing of lonesome.
I can't look away.
About the Poet
Grace Arnold resides in Austin, Texas, United States.
Read the poet's biography on Grace Arnold's Artist Page.
This poem is included in Comet #4,
published in the Wax Poetry and Art Library.
Previously published in Texas Poetry Magazine:
Dancehall Easter
by Christine Crawford
Texas Poetry Magazine is part of the Wax Poetry and Art Network.
- Visit the main Wax Poetry and Art Submissions Page to see all opportunities.
- Visit the Wax Poetry and Art Library.
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