By Lauren Brandmeier
every streetlight on east avenue flickers
as if the world was in reverse
and i wasn’t allowed to be alone.
i feel invisible eyes on my shoulders,
a pull back towards
the thought of demons dancing
from light to light. it frightens me.
i’ve watched them trace
their shadows on the sidewalks
while my feet erase the lines
sometimes i wonder if my angel’s eyes
are waiting, watching
in those black antique lamps,
blinking away annoyed despair
because i’ve walked alone
in dead winter night.
the spirits, i believe, have told
the streetlights to destroy themselves
as soon as i’ve passed
to shield me from the world
or whoever shouldn’t see me.
so silently and
one by one
they twinkle softly and
say some sort of silent goodbye
i wish i could’ve heard and
i felt a little part of my aura
break off, float up
and touch a shade of blue
to yellow, maybe it was white,
and for a second i thought i saw God,
or a little piece of him, anyway.
Lauren Brandmeier is a graduate student at Minnesota State University, Mankato where she studies communications and teaches English 101. She is from Milwaukee, Wisconsin and is an alumn of Carroll University. In her free time, she is either scouting out an iced latte, working out, or binging Schitt’s Creek on Netflix.