High-Rise Heaven
1.
Sunday evening slump, body
beat. Heat clings to the balcony
as if overlooking a cauldron.
Clouds clash on the horizon,
a wall of rain the vertical
demarcation between light
and dark. End of a long day
that began early. A fire-filled
sermon (without brimstone)
to dispel hell, the minister’s words
a generous reminder that the divine
exists even in the darkest places.
2.
I wait for the sunset, which
promises to be spectacular.
Summer is memory, trees
wear a tinge of orange-red.
Heat dissipates as dark
draws close. Patience.
Just now, Carolina wrens
rest on the rail to discuss
the evening ahead, then fly.
Distant planes align
to make their descent
into nightfall, into dreams.
Patricia Joslin is a poet and essayist living in Charlotte, North Carolina. Her chapbook, I’ll Buy Flowers Again Tomorrow: Poems of Loss and Healing, was published in 2023. Poems have appeared in Kakalak, Tipton Poetry Journal, New Note Poetry, Eunoia Review, Wilderness House Literary Review and the San Antonio Review. Patricia is a former educator and now an active volunteer in the community working to address issues of food insecurity. She loves live jazz, chamber music, solo travel, bold red wine, and her four young grandsons.
Amethyst Review 