Sean Eaton > Writing | WritersCafe.org | The Online Writing Community

A poem about the climate crisis.

Hear now and see my thorax cave-whistle when I prise my ribs open, this tropical darkness enewing runt fuchsia viscera.

I climbed the magnificent staircase to the second floor, / my palm kissing the Edwardian oak of the balustrade,

Of what use are prized turquoise or magenta blossoms? Passion don't mean much when the sparrows drop dead.

Richness followed, while the music lasted, and postbellum mansions were built on the dais of hills above the harbor.

A personal fiction poem about the heavy price of food in the US.

Sean Eaton Writing