Homeless in 2031 What a hardship it may be to carry those wrinkles to the unavoidable hyper store delaying the age of walking devices to assist with steel when the flesh fails. Practice makes perfect when one goes alone decades with the leather gloves deep in worn out jean pockets a frown made for an ancient bronze. She sees the masses passing in a blur for they have not yet learned the art of a slow dance to prepare for the ultimate waltz with the stars to them the quest for processed lives matters most. Hands on an old quilt, repository of dynasties she still sits on the front porch as the paint peels and flies with the breeze no one greets her in this deserted land. Her thoughts are secret now, her eyes fixed onto a miracle only she can discern beyond the thinning envelope of her past there seems to be little to anchor this old soul. Her suitcases are packed, piled in the dark corridor her destination mysterious as it is certain she will leave little behind but a shell of a house carcass to be erased as if it had been built for ghosts.
Fabrice Poussin teaches French and English at Shorter University. Author of novels and poetry, his work has appeared in Kestrel, Symposium, The Chimes, and many other magazines. His photography has been published in The Front Porch Review, the San Pedro River Review as well as other publications.
Pulsebeat Poetry Journal 