by Katrina
Ray-Saulis
Pine needles and dried
leaves under fingernails, the field
expansive, fingers pinned between wipers and windshield.
At prom on Saturday we
will gyrate to the rhythm
on his mom's car stereo
as he puts the gear in position.
You smile, your fears
quelled by personal fable
We are not mortal, our
lives are ahead, untouchable.
Your hair whips around
your face as your shoes
fly off into the
darkness under the full moon.
The moon is full of
promise and desire overhead
as we spin backwards
and dizzy into what lies ahead.
No comments:
Post a Comment