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