I
sit alone in a high leather chair,
look
through an ordinary window, bisected and locked.
A
girl bicycles into sight from the left. She has tied her
hair
back. Her white shoes move in circles and out of frame.
A
boy walks by from the right. A backpack burdens
his
shoulders. He holds his face as though he hopes
for
solidity, but it's transparent and not happy. He
would
hate to know that I saw him. In the center of the window
the
road to Point of Rocks is empty. It reminds me of
a
road I lived beside when I was five, in Perris,
California.
If I walked it I might find my father in his
overalls
and my mother's thick body in a cotton dress. They stand
by
an olive tree as they did in the only photograph
I
have of them together. Her head reaches his top overall pocket.
His
long arm angles around her shoulders, his hand on her hip.
I
want, once, to watch them touch.
Norma
Chapman (in Perris, California, Passager
Press)
Wonderful. Such a unique space, those few moments in the chair! Exactly between this and that on several levels. How evocative "betweenness" is, and how favorable for the intertwining of different threads. Thank you!
ReplyDeleteIf you'd like the larger type, the pencil icon is for editing and returns you to the "Draft" page. Type size is in the upper left. All you need to remember when editing is to hit "Update" when you're done.
ReplyDeleteI love the way you start wuth simple movement and move on to memories and longing. There is a lovely simplicity to this!
ReplyDeleteWhat a neat thing to write while you wait for the dentist!
ReplyDeleteLovely poem!
ReplyDelete