MUSED
BellaOnline Literary Review
Pompeii Dog by Ophelia Sikes

Table of Contents

Poetry


Catholic School Dream

Mark J. Mitchell

She is running away.
Two rows of trees
converge like nuns
and sheís almost out of sight.
I want to call,
to sayóStop.
Itís not the time to run.

But I canító
though I know who she isó
she is my
fugitive soul, fleeing
between rows of trees
exactly like nuns
whose rosaries whip
her legs in the dark breeze.

My throat is closed
by dust like beads
and I canít call
to tell heróItís time
for us to sit
facing each other.
Iím silent as she
vanishes through
those severe trees
past the dark horizon.




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