Walk Six - Metallic Silver and Vibrant Kisses

In the palm of her hands,

a tree reaches the sky

only because

of her determined optimism.

Veins wrap around her forearms

like roots

as she looks above herself.

In the mural,

her eyes glisten in daylight,

and her brown skin echos

knowledge and gifts into the city.

The world?

The city.

Her lashes are glittery vines.

She herself is a tree,

grown from rich soil.

The soil between she

and her heritage,

knows everything…

Drop…

Drop

A small orange fire hydrant

leaks water onto the curb

forming a tiny puddle,

beneath and around

its tiny body.

I cross the street,

and passing the next building,

my reflection greets me

as a brilliant flash

through a generous glass door.

Oh, the painful beauty of reflection

when feelings can’t seem

to mesh,

fighting to co-exist,

appearing on the screen

one piece at a time.

Is it brave to swat the hard ones away?

No…

I know…

My beige jacket slips away

as I step back into the day.

Gone from the glass,

the city is my reflection again.

Looking up to the vibrant sky

of metallic silver,

saturated blue, and

a spontaneous blend of clouds,

I see a small white balcony

at the top window of a building.

I imagine a dancer in a brown dress,

carving through the crisp air

with her arms,

turning her figure

in loops—

The Sun saying yes to her skin

in vibrant kisses.

Kiss.

Kiss.

Kiss.

It stings my eyes,

fabulously.

In black and white,

a large tulip spreads

across the wide side

of a building.

Its petals have rough tips

as if they’d snap onto something,

with desire running through

the flower’s green parts.

My eyes beat me through

the swiveled pathway of a small park.

I see, through shrubs and a dashing medley

of flowers,

the angels that sit atop the

Swan Memorial Fountain.

I close in on the stone,

zooming in

to watch the figures send water

in a stream of abundance,

the flow of it wiggles

in the gentle breeze of Fall.

Beneath the fountain,

dried rose petals spread

across wet ground.

Waiting at a stop light,

anticipating a visit

to the Free Library,

I watch two pigeons

race to a light post for rest,

meeting three other birds.

To my surprise, a heap of pigeons

fly overhead,

as a stranger and I cross paths,

beating the ground with our black boots.