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In a Moment, Faintly
by Erik JensenI only saw her once when Katie said, "now" and the "o" hung like a coda.
Through the February damp, Chinese-latern lit air I saw her on a barstool
miles away and detected only by a stray beam that so gently bounced from her
oyster pearls and toward me. A whisp or mist slightly more condensed than the NOLA haze.
Then gone as the mobile ace of clubs in canine poker, the feline yellow smoke in Prufrock's mind,
As Mr. Death, hyperbolic features in ink stills, as Crayola smiling flower.
Katie went on.
I couldn't give chase, not here or now or even then and there.
Though I know some who after seeing her rush her through portrait frames with
their whole being and voodoo medicine powder, hoping to trap or hold
or kiss or all three for a longer time. I control myself better
but you must admire the enduring obsession that
possess those waiting for the mermaids to sing. 02/12/2012 Posted on 02/13/2012
Copyright © 2024 Erik Jensen
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