Moving Day

23 Oct

My stylist shows up at the reception and we quick tumble
into tangles of flirtation: a magnetic, dark-eyed Italian

and a full-length, flattered red head who wishes
nickels vacuumed up at the car wash enough, but I see

she’s made of different stuff.  A couple of weeks we talk,
drink coffee—then admission: for you, I’d change my plans

When she says I shouldn’t, I go back to my apartment.  I’m down
on the rug beside half-filled packing boxes gathering dust

when in my heart like a hush, a painter bends a brush:
always he is furthering a fresco of forgiveness.

Advertisements

Any thoughts?

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: