Central Park Meditation
The autumn afternoon grows in shades
of red, darkening through buildings,
shadowing pigeons, people, trees.
The city slows for a second—no human
can feel the change, only sense
a sudden shift in their own balance.
I sit on the grass, watch as it darkens
as if night flows up from
the ground until it reaches the sky.
The afternoon is mine—birds quiet,
trees relaxed, lake still, squirrels waiting.
Every moment closer to evening
sinks me deeper, darker, as if the dirt—
growing cold—accepts me without question.
Mary Christine Delea is the author of one full-length poetry collection (Main Street Press: The Skeleton Holding Up the Sky) and three chapbooks. Delea’s website (www.mchristinedelea.com) includes a blog, where she posts writing prompts each Sunday, and poems she loves on Sundays and Wednesdays. She lives in Oregon.
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