Short Days
By Trevor Cunnington
When I leave
the dark bleeds from the sky
just as the light bleeds
from it when I return.
How do I pierce
their impervious hides,
their armor
of instant gratification?
Lies come and go,
Doppler effect
in effect.
Wide is the gulf
that separates us, sold
like Banksy’s self-destructing
drawing—
the balloon girl wistful
in strips incomplete
like every thought
that crosses my mind
ill-formed in a numen
glowing in glory
gray like the sky
presaging a hurricane.
Trevor Cunnington is a queer and neurodivergent writer/artist/educator who lives in Toronto. Their work has appeared in Open Arts Forum, Poetry Super Highway, Last Leaves, Cerasus, Maisonneuve, and various anthologies. Additionally, they have work forthcoming in Inlandia, Radon, Word For/Word, The Orchards Poetry Review, and The Rivanna Review. Besides writing and reading, they enjoy hiking and gardening. You can find them on instagram @trevorcunnington and on twitter @trevorcunning.
