by Debra Bruce
Wrong words tossed
in a mood of confetti—
made the air feel dirty,
laugh of ash as friend
backed off
from friend and flicked
away scraps of what he said
(what they did not, they would never).
And when it opened
in the room, the chasm,
and he
whom moments ago they would have claimed as their own—
they were careful not to step
where he went in.
Debra Bruce is the author of four poetry collections, including Survivor’s Picnic (Word Press, 2012). Her work appears in such venues as Poetry, The Atlantic, and Kenyon Review. Originally from Albany, New York, Debra lives in Chicago where she is a professor emeritus at Northeastern Illinois University.