One day looking at the hill outside
my bay window
sipping coffee, my first cup
awed at how the bougainvillea grow
when the bush, like a green curtain,
opens up.
The hill’s earth now exposed, an
entryway appears
framed by the pretty pink flowers-ballerinas
in the air
humming birds danced about. My
heart hiccuped, eyes filled with tears
to look outside my window and see
such flair.
Then into the center leaps a furry
little creature
dark hair, blue-eyes, skin tan, slender
as a fawn.
The branches bow down, birds chirp,
leaves flutter around her
such reverence. Like bees to honey, I
too am drawn.
I want to catch her.
I want to teach her.
I want to touch her.
She nibbles on the
fruit fallen from its tree
sits on her haunches
thigh muscles fibrous-rope
I kneel closer to the
ground so she won’t see me
“Please stay, don’t
get scared” I secretly hope.
Furry little creature, I take a step closer
feet delicate under squeaky boards
but her faithful, furry litte-er
creatures, look at me vigorous like boars
Her
companions’ tails-linked
around her while
she nibbled away in peace.
They orbited
in her aura. She never blinked
they had
her back, she was at ease.
Outside my window
looking out, framed
I feel framed, some
sort of Romeo
tricked by your
image. Our story, pained.
Realizing it was
a trap
a little too late.
Furry little
creature, have me in your grasp.
Why can’t this be
fate?
No comments:
Post a Comment