By Alesha Sinks

“Another day in paradise,” they say.
A local substitute for “fine” in response to
The ever hovering, “How are you today?”
And it’s exactly as they say it is.

Another day of wearing holes
Into the soles of shoes racing to
Find meaning and purpose and wealth and life
Under skies so blue they might be fake.

Another day of sweating through collars
And bleeding colorlessly through
The little pocket on the left breast of your shirt
Beneath palm branches singing celestial hallelujahs.

Another day of wearing thin your makeup
And thin your patience and your heart
Pouring itself out on your shirtsleeve
Under a sun that never stops shouting it's cheerful hello.

Another day of footsteps in the sand
Prints that hint at every shape of emotion held above them,
From freedom to despair and everywhere in between.
Below your feet is hot and white and soft and perfect.

Another day of life as it is known
By all the collective of humanity together,
Slowly dying souls under the heat of a smothering sun,
Lived out in what can only accurately be called

Paradise.
As if the earth itself is mocking the pain
Of mortal existence. Or perhaps
Trying desperately to heal all wounds through sheer

Glory.