by Diane Thomas-Plunk
Pain
There is a hollow place where the hurt was.
A void where the wind blows
And a little rain falls.
It glowed once like a smelting pot
Spilling over with the ache of your going.
But the burning place cooled and hardened
Taking the shape of despair.
Looking something like a heart.
And then it broke.
Alone
Alone in a bluish, blinding haze.
Tears surrounding you,
Belonging to.
Someone else.
Bio: Diane Thomas-Plunk was born and raised in Memphis, TN and, after many years in California, she and her husband have returned home to their roots. Thomas-Plunk has a degree in journalism and English from the University of Memphis. After a professional writing career in public relations and print journalism, she turned to fiction. NPR recognized her work last year when her entry was chosen as a “favorite” in their Three-Minute Fiction contest. Thomas-Plunk’s publication credits are primarily non-fiction, many of which are in trade publications.
Beautifully sad, both.
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