This is Amy posting for the first time on the YSP with a cheerful, lighthearted poem on this stormy Friday. I’m excited to share it with you; here’s to hoping it doesn’t set the tone for a melancholy evening.
The elevator as cage, gate-scissors beckoning,
grating. Up the shaft in miner’s paces, ascending
into primacy with tunnels dank and my vision
still piecemeal. That night, we couldn’t
talk; the silence threatened to derail us.
So we left.
The cold air, and my frostbitten tongue
euphoric; the wind gutted my eyes as I held on
arm as baton, sinews tense. The moon a
scalloped cantaloupe, there were craters in the
tangerines I fed you, days old and no
Already an hour past decency and ever-faster the
voices guttural in the next
room, the men already drunk on sake, their
moony wives forgotten in bed.
Sapporo cradled in my fingers tasting
now like lukewarm piss and your cheek
bones so beautiful in the dim light that
we could sift through our happiness
unbridled. Some say love
makes you believe in
endings what with children and how they worry
you so; on every road never travelled you’ve seen
bare limbs splayed against tarmac like
kindle to a fire.