There is an alley I walk
with my dog in the late
evening, between two
buildings that have
turned their backs on
one another.
Through the cracks in
refrigerator box porches, green
blades of long grass reach
through and point at
the yellowed light that
gives the night a
jaundiced feeling
and illuminates my
mental state.
Those fingers reach for
Me, prisoners
trapped in wooden cells,
much like the inhabitants
of shoe-box homesteads
behind protected wooden boundaries.
They reach their
hands through to me, asking
for one last connection
before the executioner
with his scythe takes
their heads for crimes
against their own nature.
—
Kristen Ruggles is an adjunct professor in the First Year Writing Program at Texas A&M University – Corpus Christi. She is pursuing a Masters of Fine Arts in creative writing in Eastern Kentucky University’s Bluegrass Writing Studio. She has been published in the Sagebrush Review and the Rat’s Ass Review.
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