by Danielle Beazer
Is it the Rickie Lee
in You and Me
that tells us where
the Wild Ones are
and lets us rise
like Robin’s phoenix
above our ashes?
We did not collide
with teenage suicide
but left the door open
for times when hoping
seemed too unkind
for us to stand
strong and on our own.
Now we take it
minute by minute
letting what dawn rises
flush our faces
what evening softens
urge our laughter
into dew-fallen night
As we sit on the stair
watching branches spar
with late night wind
till three a.m.
while breezes caper
across our shoulders
then taper to our calves.
The moon’s halves are
half hid in dark-
the same as ourselves,
but breathing in
we feel the smoke
from your cigarette
and breathing in
we taste the opal mist
on our tongues.
