I was one of those deaf-mutes,
a shy flame,
a candle left on a park bench
lit and melting
drops of wax between
the wooden seams.
White water from a stone fountain
slides past shooting-star coins
leaving little bubbles in the grooves.
A child bites her mother on the grass,
and I thought she’d bleed caramel
and I thought about animals
(wishing on a drowned out star).
I’m forming quiet,
oil-scented puddles on the ground;
this fountain holds a shimmering
metallic cover beneath the water.
Natural art museum,
a shy flame getting pinched
by licked fingers,
experiencing some sort of silence.
Jon Ritter is a self-taught 18-year-old wannabe artist living outside of Portland, OR. He is a bit of a closet poet/writer who likes loud music, sushi, and night time in the city. He is always looking to meet new people, readers, and writers.