The sun tells me
I need to be more useful,
and I don’t know,
I don’t know,
which is my problem.
But there’s always something
about the truth that
feels untrustworthy.
The words, It’ll be okay,
for instance.
Sundown, for instance.
Hope, for instance.
A goodnight kiss.
A I’ll-never-block-you-again, for instance.
See ya, for instance.
Or that slippery
I love you,
that slides
through the eardrums
not quite knowing where to settle.
Or perhaps it’s
all the things
you wrote in print
instead of on my tombstone,
those block letters that fade
over time,
yet remain perfectly readable
to the one with discerning eyes.
About the contributor: Len Kuntz is a writer from Washington State and the author of four books, most recently the story collection, THIS IS WHY I NEED YOU, out now from Ravenna Press. You can find more of his writing.
[…] Frederick G. Guggenheim Runaways – Mileva Anastasiadou Three Aspects in Life – Dirk Sandarupa What the Sun Tells Me – Len Kuntz Three Photographs – Zararia Yul Two Poems – Henry Bladon Life As It Ends – Ali Akbar Abedi […]
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