a poem from another time, another place
The heavy rain makes blossoms
fall from the train
heavy from the center
they catch all they can
then detach as graceful
as any
separation can be
White half shells, soft, pooled
like wet saucers on the cobblestones
and a rainbow umbrella passes
unawares
The old man in a modern newsboy
cap notices and nods
and the petals continue to fall
the newness of spring thick
around my ankles
dancing downwards
from my shoulders
Inside my leather bag a lake ripples
like someone getting into a bath
the color the clearest blue like
the eyes of school boys,
my school boys
And the ink begins to swim
black turned purple and watercolors
scraps of paper, almost brown
that my grandma sees as unfit
for stationary
There’s a star in this town that’s 6 pointed
it rests between the 6 and the 12, stationary
The heavy rain makes blossoms
fall from the train
heavy from the center
they catch all they can
then detach as graceful
as any
separation can be
White half shells, soft, pooled
like wet saucers on the cobblestones
and a rainbow umbrella passes
unawares
The old man in a modern newsboy
cap notices and nods
and the petals continue to fall
the newness of spring thick
around my ankles
dancing downwards
from my shoulders
Inside my leather bag a lake ripples
like someone getting into a bath
the color the clearest blue like
the eyes of school boys,
my school boys
And the ink begins to swim
black turned purple and watercolors
scraps of paper, almost brown
that my grandma sees as unfit
for stationary
There’s a star in this town that’s 6 pointed
it rests between the 6 and the 12, stationary
