Homelessness stops time.
The brisk tick-tock of indoor living
Dissolves in wind and rain like the chalk
Scribbles no one pays for, bleeding on the road.
Draw me a vision of tomorrow
Where the paper is still clear, so
No painted tears blotch memories.
Draw it today.
The petals fall like chatter
In the silent room
Poetry is a one-hand clap
The empty vase sings calm
Tempted by the drop. A publication notice
Holds me back, drinks me safe like coffee.
The cliff top gulps and lets me go. So I am.
This is how we stay alive, one poem at a time.
Here the word is park, not a parking space.
Emigration is an endless series of noticing
Not who you are or were, but how
Life seeps difference. Parked here, for now.
Ann Rosenthal has PTSD due to chronic domestic violence in childhood and adulthood. She has publications upcoming in Chronically Lit, amongst other disability magazines. Her poetry and artwork is currently featured in a national exhibition in New Zealand focusing on survivors of domestic violence.