Walk Eight - Eye Glitter and Flinching Mirrors

Looping into center,

like nerves wrecking

the core of a body,

running words in cursive,

painted in orange,

on the high side of a home,

spill from a single window

beneath the roof’s angle.

The sight reminds me of

an image from

Find Me

by André Aciman.

I can see a younger Samuel

writing at his desk

beneath the window,

as he thought about the lover he lost.

A couple sits at a small table

at the curb

across the street,

while a glass mural—

one of Philadelphia’s

most consistent atributes—

twinkles in the sunlight

as the sun threatens to leave us.

It shines on its way downward.

The mirrors flinch,

flashing at me

a face with

an earring dangling

from the ear

of the person emulated in the art.

Its eyes watch me

as I carry my flowers and groceries

all the way home.

The flashes slap my peripheral vision

unsolicitedly.

I see my reflection, quickly,

in a car window.

The black mirror flashes

back to me

the glitter

I dabbed onto my eyelids this morning,

with determined optimism;

a way to be cheerful

without having to cheer.

Ping!

It pops off of the black mirror

and shoots off like a movie disrupted.

Feel Good Bar

The words sit in vinyl

on the side of the street.

I imagine lots of laughter

and stories of regret

told in this place.

Basses of laughter echoing

from my imagination;

the kind where other emotions

live beneath their noises of glee.

The darker parts of their truths

would hover over the bar

as shadows,

swirling in their drinks

like disfigured bodies.

The bright, playful sky

leaps over a swaying tree

with cognac colored leaves,

and green ones swaying downward.

The leaves move in rhythm

with the voices of Little Mix

as their harmonies reverberate

through my right ear.

My single AirPod sends their

melody through me.

I find peace in every story you told.

I think of you, I’ll never be alone.

Kamille’s voice excites the leaves

as I keep on walking forward.

Beneath the tree,

a small bird cuts

straight through the image,

disrupting its slow motion.

It zips through Autumn,

looping

itself through

the song.

White sheets of paper

stick to the inside

of someone’s window,

the shape of an octagon.

Goals?

Thoughts?

Fears?

Wishes?

Reminders?

Changes in direction?

All of a sudden,

a strong wind interrupts my wonder

of the resident’s notes.

Leaves flail around,

viciously,

and I turn my head sideways,

hoping that nothing gets in my eye.

Whimsically, leaves soar

through an empty neighborhood

as I wait to cross the street.

When it’s all over,

and the leaves rest on the ground,

I notice one leaf still knocking about

hitting itself against a window.

It bounces against brick

until it finally falls to concrete.

The sun isn’t finished.

Through a gated empty garden,

leaves barely birthed,

it heaves itself at my right eye

as it slowly, but surely,

pulls down the velvet curtain

with its departure.

The wind picks up again,

and I shift my gaze

to the other sidewalk

as the leaves of a tree

beat its bark

aggressively.

My clothes rustle,

and so does my bag of groceries,

slightly twisting in my left hand.

Almost home…