Sycamore Sinner
A poem for anyone who has ever felt guilty after leaving someone, something, or someplace behind in order to chase a new dream or version of themselves.
Lost in the mirror, my gaze settles on the dark shadows that rest atop my cheekbones, stubborn neighbors to my nose.
I allow my lips to part, softly whispering, singing to my reflection.
"Bless your heart sweet sycamore sinner.
Doomed from the start by campfire sparks and humid air, by
echoed coyote screams and fast frog hunts down at the nearby stream,
a wild thing born to wild things will die a wild thing.
The folk songs say it's so.
Listen and wait for sad fiddle tunes and shy crescent moons.
As always, on my father's nightstand rests the latest Tribune.
Oh, bless your heart sweet sycamore sinner.
Have mercy for your hungry, beating heart."
Struggling with my top buttons and cursing the curls tickling my face,
I run down the stairs and rush out the door.
Dew doesn't collect on these sidewalks here, but I look down for old times' sake.
I have six minutes to make that next train.
About the Creator
Louise
A Nashville native turned New Yorker who writes about AI, data science, and all things tech by day and explores deep emotion, humor, and fantasy worlds by night.
The Ritual of Winter Challenge Winners
Welcome to the Winners Announcement for The Ritual of Winter challenge. This prompt focused on winter rituals and the meaning that settles into them over time. The top pieces stay grounded in ordinary acts and repeated routines, letting winter shape the work through pace, attention, and restraint.
By Vocal Curation Team4 days ago in Resources
Comments (1)
Wow. We all are sinners in that way. Dream clashes with duty, sometimes.