Monday, April 2, 2018

Coming Years (Day 439)

imagining majestic scenes 
and indigo horizons, 
steeling himself, he walks 
purposefully toward his first flight, 
white-knuckled 
grip on the leather handles 
of his bags

before today, exotic meant 
a drive-up in a neighboring state,
a girl whose seamed hose 
looked almost as soft as her 
bare legs, and dancing 
to jazzy music, late at night, 
in the parking lot 

the symphonic prairie, 
vast—glowing as it would in all 
his coming years 
of dreams—blooming beneath 
the milky way, blowsy 
and heavy with memories 
as a late-autumn rose.



(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: EvgeniT/Pixabay