I heard the clink of bottles inside rusty wheels
I asked in broken Fuzhounese why her hands were chapped
She said, I pay my rent in pennies
This country so much is thrown away
My shoes are used I stay inside when it rains
I heard the wind scratch against my window
The nails of my grandmother
Her smile hung sideways like the moon
She always sang after her stroke
She pointed with one finger towards her dreams
At night, I walk across the constellations towards a different life
About the Creator
C S Maximilian Myler
Writer, philosopher, photographer, human, I am a published writer living in NYC. My day job is helping others find clarity within themselves and raising my Autistic son, while my night job is plumbing the depths of my own psyche for words.
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