Because she performed to reinvent herself she understood. She knew how in
The
No
concert'hall dark there was
longer
him
or her, or we, or anything
All the goodness
Summer and
left
him
was over from
Imperfect or past. For
it
the taste of joy
'
just
like
Melons on a hot afternoon, or salt Water, sea water on the lips. But that was months ago. October she learned the weight of love. In Boston, suddenly, knew that it was Heavier than a wrist on a heart or A cheekbone against a breast. It was more. The truth of it, The gist of it was not in the Subterrestial bars on Huntingon St. Or the neon sings with their Fingers of light.
He
taught her.
Nights later she would see the dark
Red
side of love, carving a
name
In her chest, but October*
She was
still
wet in a season
Of fire. Still fastidious about Her beauty. Still green.
poetry Winner -
(tie)
Jennifer Barizo
