It appears as a snap-
shot of us sitting on a sidewalk,
uncut grass behind us, our bodies
out of focus among the sprouting green.
Drying rain from a faded sky
darkens the concrete.
We speak with frozen, muted mouths, mirroring
cold, quiet eyes that seem to say that
there is nothing more to say.
Framed by blurred edges, 
we are wanting to get out. 

This is how I remember it.

Between us,
hidden by the grass,
is a pale yellow flower,
wilted and hanging from a branch,
waiting to fall,
just waiting to fall again.

Lazy mid-day laughter. Someone
burning leaves in the neighborhood.
Children run on warm concrete, barefoot,
running just to 
do something. A boy discovers
a mass of fur, black, wet. Cat,
run over, dead, bloated. He gets
a stick, pokes it, calls his friends over. 
All carry sticks now, all excited
at something new. Countless
pokes and turning-overs, they stick 
their sticks underneath the thing and lift it
to the burning leaves. They watch it burn
a little, then go back to play. 
Smoke thickens, lazy
in the air. Shadows take shape
in spite of day.
 

 
 

Main

Next