11:46 a.m.
A woman wearing a down jacket with silver duct tape clutches the hand of a young child. She throws a half empty coffee cup into the bin under the counter, walks past a full length mirror and glances at her reflection. Twisting her torso to fit into the frame she piles her hair atop her head and notices a gentleman in the back of the cafe gazing at her. She turns towards the exit then cranes her neck to check storm clouds gathering over a playground at the intersection of Pitt and Grand Street. She hoists the child and steps out. Moments later they return. She hushes the crying child that clutches her soaked jacket. The gentleman in the corner of the crowded cafe signals to them to take a seat at the table where he sits. She glances at me sketching the scene then releases her wet hair. I watch as it falls around her shoulders. She sets the child down as the gentleman rises, waving to get her attention. The woman saunters across the floor like a prima donna on stage. He reaches into his worn travel bag and gives the mother a bright blue bird. She rubs her hand over the soft fabric. The child grabs the stuffed animal and runs to the mirror. Glancing at her reflection, she sways back and forth with two hands clutching the wings. She catches my gaze and freezes. The mother turns away from her daughter’s reflection, pushes a candle jar to the edge and leans across the table close to the gentleman. She remains focused on the movement of his lips. The child stomps her feet, puts the bird under her jacket then disappears among the crowds gathering on Grand Street
2:53 p.m.
If I use
a phrase
like
bird enthusiast
with
blue eyes
gentle
voice
in the
first stanza
of my poem
will I need
anything
else
for the middle
or end
to explain
why you
grab
star chart
and dream catcher
earrings
and meet
a bird watcher
to view
a male
bunting
perched
atop
a cactus
singing
to stake
its claim
plumage
brilliant
and shiny
illuminated
under
indigo
sky
waiting
patiently
for nightfall
star patterns
to appear
for clues
to navigate
a vast
intoxicating
desert
while
half moon
in the distance
rises
4:43 p.m.
In a state
of hypnotic
hyper-focused
confusion
a moth
hovers
near a chosen
candle
thinking
the flame
is the moon
glowing
the nocturnal
creature
rises
then falls
unable to
break
its evolutionary
navigational
system
as when you
limp
past the mirror
check
storm clouds
eyes glazed
like a boxer
hit on the jaw
neck snaps
light dims
while falling
to the ground
wishing
someone
laid a pillow
on the canvas
and in a state
of hypnotic
hyper-focused
confusion
you twist
your head
glance at me
sketching
the scene
throwing fresh
words
on my paper
like a painter
under night sky
full moon
igniting
desert
landscapes
as you rise
order coffee
extra cream
and sugar
find a cushioned
chair
to rest upon
until storm clouds
break
as I slide
my poem
across the table
revealing
colorful phrases like
new places
we’ll travel to
sand soaked
in orange light
eternal summers
with no past
break the chain
around your neck
like Jackson Pollock
day after day
I’ll splash
new words
against adobe
walls
indigo dripping
over
raw sienna
so when your offspring
returns
finds us
burning
from both ends
we’ll watch
as she throws
the animal
into the air
and wait
to see
which direction
the dry wind
blows
where
the bird
lands