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Pretty Girls in Airports
by V. Blakeher skin was a burnt amber.
matte, and papery,
it stretched taut over perfect bones
and looked older even than they.
she was worn, and whether by sun
or time was unclear
and immaterial.
she made me think of my backyard
from over half as many summers back
as i can go.
like i was watching my mom, watching
my dad, who was sweating and drinking a
beer amid equally-spaced lines
of freshly-cut grass.
these spread out infinitely to either side,
and smelled like every blue-sky memory
that a man keeps of his youth,
or hopes for his kids'.
then she walked through a door
and was gone. just like that,
and forever. 05/18/2015 Author's Note: No metaphor.
Posted on 05/18/2015
Copyright © 2025 V. Blake
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Kristina Woodhill on 05/20/15 at 03:03 PM I always expect that papery skin to crack as I look at it, so fragile in appearance. It does tell age, doesn't it? Especially loved that 2nd stanza - "these spread out infinitely to either side,
and smelled like every blue-sky memory
that a man keeps of his youth,
or hopes for his kids'."
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