Saturday, February 28, 2015

You Know He Used To

The twirl and twine of wind
across a weathered boardwalk
combs the cotton out
of her overhung brain
erasing the way he looked
at her lips, still stung by a kiss.

Storm soaked he arrived
to pierce her psyche
with his porcelain eyes
blue like a first set of china
the kind that’s supposed to last.
She perches on the edge

eyes plunged to the water below
too boiled to hold a reflection.
She smoothes her pale green
skirt into sharp pleats slanted
by a sun too bright with hands
so white they appear to brim. 

High above, a cloud twists itself
into a question mark.

-Debbie Calverley

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