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Crimson horizons simmer
in silence above rigid little
skylines. Violets begin
to litter hillsides, pinning in
tufts of green. In the mornings,
dried hydrangeas strike up
against the white siding
of neighboring houses, while
Pomeranians in sweaters
patter down icy sidewalks,
roped to owners who hope
traffic signals will turn.
Work on phonelines
tampers black as, below,
snow rises. The café radio
plays a new song to swim in.

Photo by Nick Nice on Unsplash

Grace H. Shaw

GRACE H. SHAW is an emerging poet pursuing her MFA in Creative Writing through Seattle Pacific University. She lives, works as a florist, and occasionally sits by the Potomac river near Washington D.C. The only hobby of hers worth noting is losing sleep over good conversations; she writes poetry because she has to.