circle: the roundedness of a
marshmallow spent too long in your pocket,
meant for my mouth; the almost-perfect
eternity
of your fingernail as you traced my collarbone
remarking how winglike our shoulders were;
love: circle.
square: the machine-cut cube
of perfection and almonds in the form of delight,
Turkish delight, glittering like gelatin lip gloss; a
childish drawing of a house pinned to the fridge,
everyone was once foolish;
freedom: square.
The West Wind is a banker in a smart navy suit and a tie. His dress shoes clack on the pavement; he’s got someplace to be, always someplace to be, rushing to the sidewalk, the subway, the elevator, checking his gold Rolex watch.
is more of a creek,
covered in yellow leaves and rotting branches
that staunch the flow like a bandage over blood.
The river in the woods
probably used to rush
like its brothers farther north, shrieking
/ i am running / and for once / i am not
dragging you with me / i am glad / and clearly /
you are not to blame /
Comments
The metaphorical language in this piece is so lovely! I'm here for your interpretation of the two shapes described in such a new, creative light.
Thank you so much!
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