Standing on a small bridge,
leaning, my face brushed by
sun, warm and soft cotton
candy rays, my fingers trailing an
old iron rail, exploring its
roughness, its divots, picking at
the paint with two fingernails
while I watch a tattered man play
a hurdy gurdy, coaxing a sweet,
aching note from its hinges as
he smiles to himself, to no one,
to nothing but the sound,
I think—
please,
please stay this way.
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LOVE your old man with the hurdy gurdy, it's so completely immersive. I don't know what you're gaining from the cotton/candy break. Frankly you might lose the first four lines, or turn them from a ramp-up into more of the really powerful imagery of the broken things in the city that make it worth loving, rather than a setting of a nice but unremarkable day. I think we'd assume that part. Way to earn that ending, girl.
ReplyDeleteThose are excellent suggestions - I might take a crack at revising this an repost later!
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