by Rachel Linton
Violent light—pierces
the darkness, throws
a shadow, cuts through
the curtains.
For all we fear night,
it isn’t half so cruel—
falls on us, at worst,
or sometimes blankets us,
shrouds us. The evening
plays undertaker, but
it is the daytime
who did the damage.
Language has
the longest memory—
for all we love light,
we remember: it is fire,
and all fire burns.
Rachel Linton is a playwright, poet, and law student at the University of Chicago. Her poems have previously appeared in Rollick Magazine, Cathedral Canyon Review, Queer Toronto Literary Magazine, and The Quarter(ly), and are forthcoming in The Sunlight Press.
Emerge Literary Journal 