18 of 30. For Katherine

She’s in California now,

in the happiest little city

you can think of.

Her hair is lighter from the sun,

and maybe from

California’s finest stylist.

She hardly wears makeup anymore,

because her skin is gold all over.

Her bedroom is filled with light,

there is an orchid on the sill.

She still hangs her necklaces from

ornate coat hanger hooks above her dresser,

where she keeps the Chanel No. 5

her brother gave her.

We sleep in the living room

so we can stay up all night

talking about how we

will spend our summers,

and what we will do tomorrow.

She tells me how it’s so different here.

I agree it certainly isn’t Connecticut.

I cut crosses into brussel sprouts,

crush garlic and almonds for lunch.

We take turns washing dishes.

On the night before Easter we wake

to a woman banging on the

glass door in the living room.

Angry and drunk, she yells

for someone who doesn’t live there.

When she leaves, we both have

nightmares, about things we are most

afraid of being true.

I blame it on the tray of cookies

we ate during the movie.

I meet her new friends,

over pancakes and tea.

Hike through california rocks

past the girl with a pet snake.

Ride bikes into town

and watch a baptism in the Pacific.

We talk in tides of what has

and what will

we never read the books

we bring with us

to the cafe.

Her friends love her,

but they look at her, as from

outside of a window.

It is good to watch them fumble

with her speech and careful way of

living full.

She is a strange bird

with bright feathers,

resting in a city of green mountains.

I want to whisper to them,

while we are laying on the beach,

while we are eating chickpeas and curry,

that I have known her for years

and I too sometimes wonder

at her plumes.

About amyleighcutler

Writer, dancer, vagabond extraordinaire
This entry was posted in 30 in 30, Food, Poetry, travel and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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