Wednesday, April 15, 2015

Poem a day 2015: 15

Why We Can’t Have Class Outside

The sky is an amazing shade 
of deep lighted blue, 
a translucent liquid ether
that reminds me 
of falling back into clear

July spring waters 
or digging my toes 
in hot Zihuatanejo sand, 
back when we could fool ourselves 
into thinking

that moment of family happiness 
could last forever, 
that love would be 
and that patience and childish 

would one day
be rewarded, 
and the clouds 
against the sky 

stand out in crisp, 
delicious puffs, 
then a few gauzy smears, 
moving across that 
blue serenity 

in ethereal herds,
an infinitesimal dance
that pulls our eyes up, up, 
into the sun’s 
dizzy brilliance, 

so that, 
under our skins, 
we begin to feel some of that 
impossible lift, 
as if 

with the mild Spring air
and tossing breeze 
we too have become 
a bit 

as if time might stop 
and run 
as if the only thing 
we need to know

is the soft sigh 
of that 
scented wind 
past the church steeple,
through the 

twiggy forsythia
against Boyle Hall
and the 
suddenly budding

magnolia trees.

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