Moon City

It was a cry we heard ringing, clinging, wrapping itself around the lampposts, streaming into, through, the cemetery, onwards to lonely widowers petting their lonely dogs, covered, shuttered, until their early morning walk together.

And no, I don’t think that’s the status quo, and no, it was a desperate cry; maybe a happy drunken one on a Friday night, standing in for the beer-fueled moment of invincibility, maybe a pain-filled one of someone losing their insides as they twist and turn out of their throat…

Whatever it was, it startled us from our stillness, from our warmed cocoon of quiet, and jolted us into the street with the cry, with the crier, with the crying, and it took us a minute to reassure ourselves that it was indeed, coming from the street, and not from some dark twisted place deep within us.

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