For those misty sprinklers
set to automatic, set to
puddle the sidewalks
and all grass at the same time
whose mess met the whirling
chopping wheels of my bike,
splashed and wet my inner thighs,
left a fading trail like bread crumbs
as I sped off down the street –

For the millions of rabbits,
all small, brown, cotton-tailed
skinny-legged beady-eyed
asexual creatures, who slowly learn
to trust us gawking dwarves
who slam on breaks
and feel a hard tug of inertia
at their sight –

For the boys who kissed me
on top of Balduck hill,
for the one who let me
pillow my head on his shoulder
one broken-curfew night
at the lake,

For those five brown fingers
of her right hand who slip
and tangle through mine
and smile with their sweaty
pressing loving grasp
like the soft buzzing of a bee
past my ear, one who will not
look for honey in the folds
of my swatting hands –

For Anne Sexton who whispered
fairy tales to me
all night, from one a.m.
until five, with her
demented lust and humor
which paints a freckled smile
against any unstarred face –

For the three trees
in this square
who stand against the wall
like proud soldiers
covered in blindfolds and bound,
so still,
with sweat collecting
on their fleshy leaves –

For the stoplights
that all flashed yellow
in applause
for me on this morning,
cheering in cautionary hope:
“Welcome home, Welcome home” –

I sing songs
at sunrise on narcissistic green grass
in a town I learn not to call home,
in a town I return to for peace.

06/20/2005

Posted on 12/19/2005
Copyright © 2010 Stephanie Lane Sutton