Grace Lynn

Assembly Lines

In copper clouds
the trot of thunder
like Aztec gods:
our sky, gravel;
the planet, mortar;
our flowers, industrial;
an understudy sun,
light without twilight
no dawn nor dusk,
only noon.
Riding up the escalator, I thought the moon
another streetlight
a tad crooked. 

Untidy stems
drop their petals on paths.
On flat rooftops
in the winter sunshine,
bright honeycombs
eyebrows of oblivion,
dandelion and alfalfa
echo summer’s
green innocence replaced
by platoons of acrid propellers.
Across the distance,
I read signatures of last night’s rain. 

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Grace Lynn is an emerging poet and painter who lives with a chronic illness. Her work explores the intersections between faith, the natural world, art and the body. In her spare time, Grace enjoys listening to Bob Dylan, reading suspense novels and investigating absurd angles of art history.