Wednesday, May 24, 2017

Saturday, April 22, 2017

A frame

"A frame" appeared in the CLACKAMAS LITERARY REVIEW, a print journal, Spring 2015.


A frame

As the elevator rises to the third floor
and rain sprinkles your past, you examine
the toad under the plastic truck and I try to
appear unconcerned with the age of your new
bicycle, because appearing in drag in the talent show
has left me exhausted
                                     I know what this
means to you and your girlfriends and how simple
a grilled cheese sandwich should be to smell
at noon in a small A-frame house in the
woods at the end of a two-track, but instead
I think of dragonflies mating in flight and how
amber must feel cooling around the body. I know
you'll say that this is not in spite of everything
but because of it, but again, I don't know
your history, or even how to salsa dance, though I
would like to, with you, and get fat-free
yoghurt with almonds and pecans, though what you
said last night is true, or will be: out
here on the edge of things, being must be more
interesting than the center, which is still as necessary
as night and dreams
                                  All of which makes me happy
to see you running barefoot in a skirt, though I've
burned my fingers now, or will, and anyways,
your sister called. She said to say hello.