[35]

First Kiss

I couldn’t sleep last night. The horses were wild in the streets,
their hooves shod with engagement rings, diamonds breaking
in the braids of their tails. I unbridled myself from the sheets

and crossed to stand among them. I waited for you, like I did
eighteen years ago, surrounded by creatures larger and more
dangerous than myself. This time they didn’t give me away.

I looked over the distance of their ears, saw your headlights
coming through the curves of the clouds. The radio tuned,
your hand slung through the wheel. Men always fall in love

with me in their front seats. You were just the first. I’m sorry
you had to watch the others, all these years. We never
would have made it. That’s the truth we don’t have to tell about

the dead. This morning, the street is sown with seeds of glass.
A hoop spins unevenly along the tar. The sun vanishes like a taillight
over water. Circling, the horses dip their heads to what remains.

~

Postscript:

Today, I received a total of eight letters, cards, a CD, and postcards from Sussex, WI; Alameda, CA; Orangevale, CA; Seattle, WA; Weatherford, OK; Portland, OR and Gresham, OR.

Inspiration of the day: One of today’s letters also included a letter to a loved one who “is gone from one world but within another.” Thus, I thought I would attempt to pen a letter to someone who is also sharing that other world.

Yesterday, I sent some photos and a letter to a friend in Oregon.

~

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This entry was published on February 4, 2012 at 9:41 pm and is filed under February, Poems, Seattle, Self-Portraits. Bookmark the permalink. Follow any comments here with the RSS feed for this post.

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