| spectres a wednesday in april, the parade grounds spring rain, warm as a human touch, still falls this pavement is one long mirror of gray where crepe myrtles shed crinkled confetti-- pinkest blossoms left by a sad parade at the field's heart, they play without boundaries-- unselfconscious, he is more boy than man his feet, innocent and bare, seek the ball its black and white geometries melting you stand under your umbrella's black bowl your heart turns, needle-like, to your desire (silent, like that character in Duras the one who watches from the street corner) your fingers are jealous--slivers of grass cling to his skin--your lips envy the rain he kisses, running, laughing, mouth open, unaware that he is more than mortal your black shows, with their sensible square heels, fear the saturated ground and its depths-- I hold this moment still, as I hold all secrets--though they were my own hungry ghosts |
| (c) 2000 Lynn Y. background, Krissi M. |
| Ms. Younger wrote this for a "Writing 'Reflective Poetry' Activity" for her English IV class last school year. I only had her for Journalism, but since I loved the poem, I snuck two copies of it out of her class! |