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Two Random Moments |
I climbed the cracked wooden stairs into the attic
With rafter mazes and pink camouflage.
I never noticed
the small visitor clinging to my sweat-damp sweater.
Hours later--or maybe for him days or years or decades
Feet crept out, teasing patches of bare skin.
He ventured unseen into valleys and crossed prairies of rust wool
Until a glance revealed those arching legs
against the freckles of my arm.
Think skyscrapers caught mid-construction,
Their steel bones and elegant angles clear against the sky.
My heart tripped on the history of tuffets and cheap horror films
Where cameras magnify tiny bodies.
Then I paused and saw the petite, dark body
delicately balanced at the center of those questing legs
like a dancer flowing gracefully across the stage of my sweaty arm
with unexpected grace as one leg swept
an arc and settled gently down.
And perhaps it's inelegant of me to remember that day
while watching your legs tangle in white sheets,
your face shadowed and a snore rumbling softly
but the night brings strange thoughts
and I wonder if his children or grandchildren still hunt in our attic
as I lay in bed next to you.
copyright 2006
Lyn
Cannaday |
