"Hypocrisy"

By Sophia Ozenbaugh

The cherry water ice
melts from her lips.
Drip, drip, dripping from her chin,
onto the full circumference
of her chest,
horizon’s hem.

A ricochet stray
runs through her,
whispering wakeup.
So she sheds
the bloodstained
cloth and cloak of night,
exposing a naked murder.
It rains all day
rhythmically from this punctured pulse.
200
300
400 drops
until the day is finally dry.
But if you look to the sky,
there you will find the heart of the city,
a sour, shriveled pit,
no longer enclosed
with the sweet, rich juice of
LO
VE.
And as Philadelphia savors
her last spoon of cherry water ice,
she says,
“But I love thy Brother,”
from her red stained lips.

(Photo: LAURENCE KESTERSON/Inquirer Staff Photographer)