shot glass
Issue # 3 January 2011
"... brevity is the soul of wit ..."
- William Shakespeare

Pina Pipino

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They hover over Grant Park
hear beloved tunes of blues and jazz

some shed tears that fall on the multitude like dew
some punch the air with ghostly fists
scarred by thorny cotton harvested long ago.

They look down at a sea of people
arms waving the stripes that once hung them from trees
where they gave a last gaze at stars shinning afar.

After the last words soar into the night      they nod      join hands
fly to that place where wounds hurt no longer.