Swallows and Swallows
The stream finds the gutter first
and starts its slow count there.
The hot pavement gives up its smell
The trash can lids rattle their one note,
the tarp over the firewood pops and sags,
and the downspout swallows and swallows
It threads the dog’s chain,
silvering each link along the groove
worn into the dirt
Under the eaves the ground stays pale,
a dry margin the width of a hand
Moths hold still against the porch screen,
wings printed flat on the wire
The gravel darkens stone by stone
Tinted in the shade of the sky
The puddle by the mailbox
holds the clouds in a shallow gray dish
Irene Kim is a high school student who loves visual art and writing. Her work has been recognized in local exhibitions and school publications. When she is not drawing or writing, she enjoys reading poetry, walking in the rain, and experimenting with collage. She hopes to continue creating work that captures both the quiet and the extraordinary.