This is How We Choose to Spend Our Days

strolling city sidewalks, shoulders trailing
behind us, low and smooth as milk
down marble stairs. This day
the leaves in the trees are scratching
the flaking backs of each – responding
to prompts put forth in parched voice, given
over for intepretation by the breeze. This after
noon, the cars idle by – boy fingers curled
pink and white around the last
inch of open window, studious faces lick lips
in concentration

– a drip of sweat skimming her
sunburned nose like honey.

5 responses to “This is How We Choose to Spend Our Days

  • robertbrownpoetry

    I love the title of your poem . . .  ”Given / over for interpretation by the breeze”  Perfect line.  I like the last two lines a lot, too, though I’m not sure skimming and honey go together.

    How is your day going? It is a beautiful day in Astoria: one of the last ones of the year. 


    Dream Song 29   by John Berryman There sat down, once, a thing on Henry’s heart só heavy, if he had a hundred years & more, & weeping, sleepless, in all them time Henry could not make good. Starts again always in Henry’s ears the little cough somewhere, an odour, a chime. And there is another thing he has in mind like a grave Sienese face a thousand years would fail to blur the still profiled reproach of. Ghastly, with open eyes, he attends, blind. All the bells say: too late. This is not for tears; thinking. But never did Henry, as he thought he did, end anyone and hacks her body up and hide the pieces, where they may be found. He knows: he went over everyone, & nobody’s missing. Often he reckons, in the dawn, them up. Nobody is ever missing.


    • jeniferwills

      That is eerie.

      It’s beautiful here also. Really, really beautiful.

      You may be correct about the skimming and the honey. Yes, I think you may be correct about that one. Good suggestion, thank you, Mr. Brown. ;)


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