The first lies in wait just out of sight.

The word yes seems more promising

than warmth after winter’s bite.

The preceding days are long

like sunlight reaching down through the canopy

to bless your new forest of discovery

until you thoughtlessly push through

some thicker brush to step into the sixth week

and your nameless daughter’s heartbeat

is swallowed whole by quicksand

from right underneath your feet.

You see the second one coming from years away,

the word yes containing less integrity than maybe—

chance appointed Master of Ceremonies to fate.

Feeling devalued like a pawn cast off to the side

from a worthless deal you’re left wondering

which sin you’re being punished for,

if it’s more than one,

or all of them.

The deafening blasts of silence’s ensuing wrath

whisper what your bones knew all along—

you weren’t promised a damn thing.

It’s like gambling—anticipating

the mountains of a new life off

in the distance until learning

that the most beautiful sunrises

which will never reach for you

wait patiently at the summit.

---

Brandon C. Spalletta lives just outside his hometown of Herndon, Virginia with his wonderful family. His poem “Daydreaming” received an Honorable Mention for Day Eight’s 2023 Luce Prize, and his poetry has been published in Ghost City Review, Gargoyle Online, Dodging The Rain, Panoply, Elysium Review, Maryland Literary Review, WWPH Writes, and The Mid-Atlantic Review (formerly Bourgeon). At twelve years old he stood atop Old Rag Mountain and his heart never left.