It is the night,
color it in capes of mystery.
For not even the stars
know the true intent.

It is the night,
color it in fear like
a woman’s quickened
pace to her car.
Eyes averted, keys
playing Hide & Seek
in the now oversized
bag.

It is the night,
color it prejudiced.
From side alleys,
it peers around the
corner. Waiting for
the next victim
of a senseless
beating.

It is the night.
Checking the long
list of names that
will not see the dawn.

It is the night; grand and
foreboding. Wrapping its
arms around us. As we
pray the grasp is not
too tight.

---

Shontay Luna is a lifelong Chicagoan whose interests include binge watching favorite shows, collecting coupons and investigating the mysteries of deep dish pizza. Her work has appeared in The Daily Drunk and The Literary Nest, among others. She’s the author of two chapbooks, Reflections of a Project Girl and Recollections & Dreams.