Poem for Thursday, December 27, 2012

Gypsy in the Park

She would meet me and Cottontop under the persimmon
tree with fruit stains on her dimeshop blouse and girly little
hands


We did the secret handshake and Cotton pointed at the moon
It always went on like this no matter what color the sky
was


He pointed at the moon said there's a monster up there
Gypsy lit a clove and blew smoke out her bird nose (she swore
to God she had Choctaw blood in her veins and I believed her
alright)


Don't you think I look like a grown woman when I do that
Hush Gypsy pleaded Cotton as he shivered in the twilight
His overall pockets were stuffed with milkweeds from the
swamp


I put my arm around Cotton's shoulder and said the moon
ain't a monster and if it was the sun would lick it in a knife
fight and heat up its blood to keep everything yellow and
warm


A hoot owl launched itself from a branch and dove nearby
Cotton bolted and disappeared somewhere in the darkness
I had my back to Gypsy but felt her gaze penetrate through
me


What you know about the sun and the moon's blood
I turned around and met her sapphire eyes while she let a
stream of smoke slip softly between her pursed lips
Gypsy


Press your palms against mine and don't say nothing now
She did it without fear and pretended to understand the
night


Don't you think I look like a grown woman she whispered
The wind tore through our bones like the saddest haiku and I
nodded