A sliver of sky, beacon of hope, connection to the wider world embraced by towers of urban life.

I watch morning’s rebirth, bright orange bursts slowly fading into daylight blues, then twist into my pillow of despair until midnight moon penetrates, connecting me again to the world outside my cell.

Eileen writes poetry and flash fiction and letters to her grandkids. She has used the pandemic as an excuse to spend more time writing.