by Suzanne Frischkorn
The sky is Crayola sky blue.
Mommy, I know a secret place.
Milk chocolate eyes wide,
he leads me to a foot-slapped path
and through a moat of sticks until
we stumble on a stony shore,
nestled to a sheath of water.
See the light sparkly on the water?
My mind tangled, knotted, on a long,
twined, string of future, follows the thin,
tight, line, back to my eyes.
The melting sun pours rays
on the bay, it sparkles and glints
like broken glass on concrete in August.
Suzanne Frischkorn lives in Connecticut with her husband and
poetry has appeared in many print and online journals. Suzanne Frischkorn's poetry appears in numerous journals and anthologies. Recent publications include JAMA, 2 River View, The Salt River Review, and The Melic Review. She is the author of two chapbooks "The Tactile Sense," (Alpha Beat Press 1996) and "Exhale," (Scandinavian Obliterati
E-mail Suzanne Frischkorn at