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Grey Sparrow Journal

Issue 30, July 31, 2017
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Fenwick Boulevard

After Sylvia Plath's Mad Girl's Love Song


 
The boulevard and I held fingers 
of the city in sleep, horned wind 
escaped through weeping cypress, 
lampposts flicked soft over gravel
like cat's paws alighting on pillow.
Half-moon crash-landed over stony
walls, growth of weeds, gradients
red to gold, neatening in streetful
of botanical maelstrom. Pressed
perfume splayed wings by lattices
of green leaves and opaque water,
where I traveled without thought of
home or intrigue, pouring breaths
down the cotton ends of my sleeves.
Standing still at the dew-wet turn on
dirt track, I shut my eyes and the sky 
dropped dead, fingertips set forth to
drift, languid in sloth pockets of blue
shivers; lips spun arias in consonance
like language of trees, down where it
can be touched, seen, taken, hidden.

                                      -Lana Bella