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in search of an elixir for my melancholy. A Virgo with gold in his teeth lured me into his lap and sang songs about the fraudulent landscape. The purple sky is invented for you. The purple sky is not among us. When his hand traveled south, I blushed.
I left when tomorrow made sense. That's the way a walk renews. One makes her way through the imperfect city. One discovers how the natural world is people with hand puppets. People shivering metal sheets for thunder. Then one squints her eyes to fuzz it more, to prettify. ¦¦¦¦
Carmen Gimenez-Rosello is a poet and teacher living in Oakland, California. Her work has appeared in Poetry and Poet Lore. Originally published in the April/May 2002 issue of Boston Review |
