Run Away

Run Away

By sas, Winner of the November Poetry ChallengeMagic Jesus Fingers

She wasn’t, isn’t
here. there. anywhere.

She is lost, and found
discarded; destined to be mixed
up by a hocus-pocus Jesus
finger rammed into dykes
to drive them out of homo-
genous, “god fearing” flocks
into blast furnace cement.

No mother
with bowed head
by that heavy cross
lays hands to claim her.
No eyes
tightened in prayer
use the Light to look.

Hard rubber hums a soft
“bye-baby, bye-baby, bye”
on the I-94 overpass, above
those shunned-under, bloating
every city’s belly—

roam in and sleep
on newspaper sheets

stay out of sight
make themselves small


Read another poem by this author


About the author:

“I’ve circled Detroit’s drain since 1944. It was a good place to form a cement backbone, although occasionally even mortar weeps. I hope I’ve wept more for others than myself. Except for a memorial poem for my parents, I neither read nor wrote poetry, until 2011. My poetry is for my granddaughters to someday read. I leave Cliff Notes for them, at the bottom; my life lessons. 
Sas has blue collar blood still flowing, so this is all she can say in the third person”

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