In Lieu
Posted by Chloe Wayne | Filed under Poetry, Print
Not sure where to begin.
I could tell you how I saltwater traipsed
across you. Shimmering shoreline of a man.
Afraid of sidling past your limbs. Sinking in.
I could tell you of cardboard boxed daydreams
graying under floorboards of doubt.
I could tell you how I tiptoed.
I could tell you of the casualties.
How I’ve seen one too many woman
bend her bones for your kind.
Cracked Corinthian columns,
pockmarked spines.
I could tell you of a Saturday afternoon stroll,
my Fifth Avenue vertigo. Seeing swingsets
in unassuming sidewalks.
How your eyes were auburn dust bowls.
Mine, two Georgia sun-blackened
farmers fleeing.
Adhering to street signs,
avoiding stoplights–
their speckled hearts bungeeing
into puddles of green,
I could tell you of falling like that.
I could tell you of trying to keep composed,
of being daughter to a six foot brick wall.
How I’m still mortaring the cavities.
How in ten New York City blocks
I unlearned the difference
between walking and flight.
Heels trampolining into concrete.
The flailing of a footstep.
