William Hromada

Let it ride

The sky folds like linen,

blue edges frayed by wind.

I walk the sidewalk like it owes me

something—maybe a shadow

that doesn’t keep tripping over itself.

A pigeon flaps past,

carrying yesterday’s crumbs,

and I think: even birds

have baggage.

Still, the light hits my cheek

like a hand I didn’t ask for,

warm, insistent—

and for once

I don’t flinch