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A Walk at Night

by Jason Brady

I heard a woman
on the street
her throat was hoarse
from sobbing.
I thought to stop
to ask her why
her petite feet
made heavy sounds.
But I stayed straight
eyes on he ground,
afraid of something,
I don't know.
But for each step
I took ahead
she matched my time
in stride until
two sets of sounds
echoed each other,
but never spoke a word.
What seemed like miles
opened up
between each street light strobe.

The fog caressed
the iridescence
and her syncopated
foot steps sent me
a feeling of familiar things
like I could know her pain
but failed. So
her sorrow filled
the moistened air
until each sidewalk
slap skipped over
cracks with no echo
left to hear.




September '04