dawn over hudson - when diana dies

ava min | Spring 2024

tell me, she said
the story of my body

blue and sweet in summer wind
icing at tilt
and hourglass, flipped, finally

for you, I said
tongue (of boys and foreign class)

cut from a mother-sewn waist
you should know
I palm the silhouette
of a woman that dawn tides and takes into the hudson

and if it is important,
your body
soft like the needle that misses
again and again
brownstones crying out gold

warm glass crushed against stone
tomorrow, I darkened

crosswalk for two

and heaven, you asked

I could unhand only pictures
windowpane shades

stairs,
I remind
you to wait for me

thud
thud
thud

my heart blossoms,
bears fruit, falls away
and morning ends