Tags

,

Window Dressing

*

She wants to see more than her reflection.

She wants tomorrow to rise in the webstrung pane.

She wants yesterday to not have tripped her up, invisible

and waiting for her spread-arm landing.

She wants the boy behind her to have his arms spread,

eyes closed, freefall toward the catch and release of her bared mouth.

*

No. She wants to close her eyes, go back eight paces,

fall down the chutes and ladders, face-first into candyland.

Ride in cars with boys on the way to her first job, first love,

never loss. Her hair flows behind her like a river, empties into

streams of grief and roe. Why is everything about water?

*

Even as the sun dapples the glass like the backs of horses,

wide enough for her to rest upon, her face in the harsh-tangle mane.

Whicker and whinny and clover broken with every cant and canter.

There was a time when the world smelled like golden honey and cornsilk.

She wants that back, close her eyes, inhale.

*

Cities smell like things trying to live in nothing. Roots and grasps.

The way branches bow over cars, fight with antennae for the sun.

A sign needs the same as a tree needs the same as a girl standing alone

in a blooming field of forevers.  Through the glass, the sun

transforms her skin to something useful. She turns over

this new leaf, becomes symbiotic, evolves into girl

into sign into tree into bloom reaching for the light.

*

***

Notes: A quickie, looking out the coffeeshop window.

Read the daily prompt (as well as the inspiration beyond poem-a-day) over at Not Without Poetry. My goal is to write a poem each day in less than 20 minutes, and without additional revision beyond the writing experience

Advertisements