my heart is red

My heart is red over the grass that settles between my two homes and the blood on the streets. My heart is red over the thought of my friends and the walk through Main Street. I hear the laughter that rolls out of our lungs, a ballad that laces my mind with spring. I hear the violinist’s ode.  She plays, and our minds dance. A crowd of loners gather, we hold out our selves into the tiny circle: a mixture of stories and accents, held silent by her ode. The City leans in, and our skin drinks deep from the Read More