The Confidence Artist

How is confidence to be learned?

The smoggy grey of the sky above grimy buildings during the day, 

the smirking bottom lip of the moon at night.

Entropy apparent, decay on all surfaces

wrinkles

mold

stretchmarks

dust

exhaustion

peeling paint.

The common loss of things and people

points to a guilty verdict.

A few circumstances show instead a worldly indifference to good and bad. 

“Hey.”  And I turn from the bar to see a friend of my true childhood, gone for twelve years.

A slip of paper with my oldest friend’s Italian phone number passed to me by a stranger.

The tiny dog, waiting for me, alien to judgement.

That direction, that is where I want to go.

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Author: Emily

Writer/ Librarian

1 thought on “The Confidence Artist”

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