Jennifer Angelina Petro
The chimeric afternoon
Lifts its head, as I venture out
For the first time in three days.
I mask my face against the belladonna air,
Each step feeling modestly feral,
Each sifted breath more defiant than the last.
It occurs to me, as the swift, April wind
Spindles through my hair:
There is nothing I wouldn’t give
To lie with you in the cherry-blossom-petaled grass,
Hands clasped, holding on
Through an uncertain, occulted future.
What I wouldn’t give
To Netflix with you in bed,
Blankets warm, lights off. If only you were here.
If only you existed.
What I wouldn’t give to be vivified by a kiss.
As it is, each step slows in the miasmic
Walk back to what I call home.
I climb the steps, turning to look for you
One last time. I open the door. I close the door.
I walk into my spell-bound apartment
And sit on the couch.
I do not look out the window,
Passed the magnolia tree,
To the sidewalk below,
To see if you spirited home with me. Instead,
I remove my mask, I close my eyes,
And merge back into the sonorous silence.