Rental Property
I want to paint that wall purple,
watch how the sun
changes it throughout the day
here in this ragged light.
Learn whether it leaves the room
melancholy in late afternoon,
wakes it to tenderness
in a pink dawn.
See if the dark color
hides cracks
that do not even belong
to me.
Eavesdropping on 10-B
Their voices
leak through the plaster,
too soft to decipher, sibilants
melting into vowels, muffled strands
of an old song, the cadence of a rising moan.
Sometimes the old crow
beats its wings
into emeralds,
hammers its beak
into a flute,
ceases to caw,
trills, and we believe
our throats
are rubies.
About the Author:
Peg Robarchek is a novelist, journalist, podcaster and poet living in Charlotte, North Carolina. Her poetry has been published in various journals, including Naugatuck River Review, Rust + Moth, Prime Number and Iodine.
