The Words of Judith K. Witherow  


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In the quiet
of the riot,
when the reason
trickles in.

When the heat
of hatred passes,
and the surge of
violence ends.

As the smoke
and ashes settle,
blotting out
the noonday sun.

Will we pause to
seek new answers
yet maintain the
past again?



And, Oh

There was that time
you didn’t see me
watch you swirl wildly
beside the swollen
about to leap with
rain pure intoxication
across banks aching
to embrace you also

Another day you sat
with stiff bowed back
and upraised knees as
if protecting self from
Curly tossed hair covers
the pale face pressed into
trembling hands frozen in
yet another lover’s time
And, oh

She Walks

Our moon sparse house
barely catches a glimpse
of comings and goings.
Shadows traced on the
vacant walls leave old
jagged outlines of a life.

Wind brushed trees rustle
leaves against the panes,
scratching a bereft refrain.
Will your body slip between
slivers of darkness and light
shadowing the watchers sight?

The wistful one awaits slight
creaking upon the splintered
boards. Bare feet don’t allow
much sound to echo warning
for one held captive by need.
Where’ve you been again my


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