4.2.13

Writing a poem that tells a lie is so freeing.  Mine usually turn into flights of fancy, and this one is no exception.  My secondary "color" prompt for the day was yellow.  I always remember my creative writing prof telling us that poets lie to tell the truth.  I'll provide the lie for today...you bring whatever truth you care to.

Lie

That's the hat I wore.  That night—

the night we made a run for it. 

You wore white--I wore black except

for the hat. Its gold roses were stars

lighting our path.  Our shoes

had wings, our fingers were canary feathers. 

We tore free of the city's claws.  We rode

your motorcycle past ghettos and gravestones,

 past corncribs and coal mines, rode

until the highway rippled away, until the red mouth

of sunrise swallowed us.  We were cowards.

We were heroes. 

It spit us out again, new.