Benjamin Franklin Was Right
By Kasey Edison
Pure as stars swimming through wet winter sky,
swallowing the cold until indistinguishable
like fish of the deep swallowing their young.
Say something to me. But don’t say life is set
like marrow in bone, that the dead inside each of us
strain at our skins to get out.
Tell me, isn’t this also life:
clouds squeezing pearls of light on the cold ground
so they scatter like bits of glass?
Kasey Edison has been published in The Broadkill Review and The Mississippi Review. She is currently a manager at a large financial institution outside of Philadelphia, where she lives with her husband and dog.