9 of 31. Four Minutes

Between this dream and that
batting ideas around like butterflies
lightly

Watching time turn itself over into another cup
of hot water
the same paper thin bag of tea leaves

He watches the red hand across the street
bites his lip
tugs at the collar of his polo
and runs anyway

sometimes running is the brave thing

it’s best not to say who was right
or what i believe in
the seconds are passing

every pause is a hesitation
the woman holding the baby
calls out to her other children
and they meander lazily toward her

bumblebee to flower
when the weather has turned cold
then warm again

return to mother is inevitable

Between this bruise
and that one
blood always running toward
the hit

the young girl with the thin
headband
leans toward her date
but crosses her arms

he sips on his drink
and looks out the window

east village
east village
east village

between this street and that
every block different buildings
every lover different hopes

juice, tea, ash, cardboard, heels,
sweat, sandals, ATM

The New York Times falls on the table
a prophecy of words and telling
story of hand flipping page,
and the man who leans to read it

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About amyleighcutler

Writer, dancer, vagabond extraordinaire
This entry was posted in 30 in 30, fall, Poetry, trinity grace church and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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