Sometimes our days break
into tiny shards
that cut like glass
and stain the kitchen floor
with blood, as if we’ve dropped
the crystal stemware that was
a wedding present from an old aunt
who has recently passed on.
At these moments, we are wounded
And grieving.  Nevertheless,
we stand transfixed
by the glint, stupidly admiring
the beauty of the colors as they
kaleidoscope around the room
simply because the light
catches the slivers just so.

{}

A pack of coyotes
yammers in the canyon
behind our house
like a wild chorus
like a feral boy band
warming up before a concert
on a stage as wide
as all of California.
Their only spotlight:
A halved December moon.

{}


About D.L. Tricarico

D.L. Tricarico’s work has appeared in Exquisite Corpse, rumble, Mudfish, Pearl, The Main Street Rag, and The Pikeville Review.  He was also a finalist in the Glimmer Train Short Story Award for New Writers.