The Boston Marathon Bombing
(One year after)

flex of a muscle
under belly of sky
legs   of a city

cut down
to bone, healing
and no healing,
is not muscle

or thought with wing
or tears     or lighted place,
open armed     noun
or verb flashing

that slogan on cloud
passing through time
(the date and
some newspaper quote, maybe)

There is no justice or grand prize
winner       dazzling banner
waving     at the top
of the hill       or something
we can shout
out loud—

Only this city
that runs
with heart pounding
and courage


and angels

Martin Richard, the 8-year-old boy
held up his poster wide eyed
as the camera flashed
“No more hurting people. Peace”
before he was killed
in the marathon bombing


Denise Mostacci Sklar has had a career as a dancer and now has had the good fortune to discover writing as another way to move through life. She particularly enjoys the stillness…waiting for words to make an entrance. Her most recent work can be found in Wilderness House Literary Review, Untitled with Passengers, Vagabond City Literary Journal, Dark Matter,The MUSE-Journal of International Poetry, Inner Art Journal and The Aurorean. She lives in Hamilton MA. with her husband and two incredible young men who happen to be her sons.