~For my dear sister, Jane


steady, upright, unseen
like a cat on the sill, bird-watching,
I press myself against the window—

its gaping clarity engulfs my teacup eyes;
its wood is drafty, the gift of crackling winter
blows faint and brisk against my nose,

I am longing myself beyond the mottled frame,
dicing between a screen of cubes on the other side,
pushing through millimeters of time and space, closer to you

I'm dangling atop the ledge now, a cooing pigeon
on this city perch, a flock of thoughts weave in like swallows, they swirl
then dart suddenly south, to find you—

as if the earth between us never fell away—my vertigo
only triggered by a sky without the airy possibility
of your laughing blues and cheeky pinks slicing, sunrise and sunset

I reach for your slender hand, the touch of your rose-speckled fingers—
all bones and rings and artificial chill, the S. Florida we warmed up to
between the sandy, sunscreened shores of our youth—

but only my reflection moves toward me,
mirrors my heavy heart, my fingers curl inward
plump as two shrimp cocktails


* * *


the wailing of my cell startles and drops me—like a leg cramp—
from my airy ocean of daydreams, to the concrete floor of here
and now, reprieve unlocks

your voice, it rebounds like telepathy to my birdsong
of longing. And how I am grateful it is you I hear
through the whistling trees. My hand reaches again

instinctively, like a nursing child, learning how
touch is a family you can never foster
through the neutral optics of a handheld phone


* * *


Quickly I fasten my eyelids like hurricane shutters;
I quite the local clutter to listen, hear your storm approaching.
My northern shores grow choppy; howling cries and pregnant sighs

sting the busy the air, like hail and gale force winds. I am remembering
the limp wet cling of you, a weeping willow elder child,
twiggy in February’s long shadow.

I remind you of the budding spring,
how like morning, it will emerge and shine,
renew your fallen leaves, restore your natural hues

look for it, now in your long winter,
let its light blanket you, blind you like the bright white of fresh snow
from long ago, remember

the promise of spring, through the hazy Florida months,
between rainy seasons and boyfriends and budding dreams,
let the day break over you, like a glorious Easter egg

filled with the sweetness of possibility
these days will come, bearing those sunfire desires,
sweeping and swooning;

like the prism of rainbow arches, like the pollen-dusting of love,
sure as tulips and daffodils are born anew each year
from their heavy bulbs below the soil; transformed

from the dark cocoon of earth
so are you reborn,
my rare, blue butterfly

over time, our words rise and trail off into the thick treetops
of memory, like branches we can’t reach, but still we look up
until the morning dew trickles down upon us

from those lofty branches we drink,
our thirsty tongues reach far beyond windowsills;
this moisture our salve, our song—a lingering duet of remembrance


* * *


this side of the pane, I reflect and see
us dancing, two young winds
between clothes lines and pegged bed sheets.

Even then the rains came, scattered over us
like the hungry crops we were. How we’ve grown
up, into worldly women, hanging on

strong as the mighty Legacy of Luna,
ancient sister, redwood on the distant and waning hillside of Cali;
cling to me, as Luna does her rightful place, knowing I am yours

and like her many earthen roots,
let me hold you now
steady, upright, unseen

03/05/2009

Author's Note: Revised, but still very new...

(wtg workshop with Jon)

Posted on 03/05/2009
Copyright © 2024 Julie Adams