POETRY

Window Girl
by Srijaya Reddy
 

Six Weeks, Five Days

You should have jam hands,
my motherís smile,
and his Hollywood eyes
But I sit here quietly,
rocking what I donít have.
Could you ever forgive me?

On Poplar Creek

A mile of stones
lining the field
where I said goodbye.
The wooden bench,
blue flannel,
and cold Libra air
Gone are the days
of bent yard rims,
tattered tail-lights
and strawberry hills.
Yet youíre still here.

Just Remind Me 

Tired thorns, clay ground
summer quickly faded
taking the stars
and moths with it.
Caved-in whispers,
sunken bridges
Were you ever there?

In the End

Past the lush hideouts
where the barefoot druggies
had the time of their lives,
Past the sloping rocks
where future suicide heroes
planned their illustrious exit,
Into the deep wells
where the lost girls
drank from rainwater puddles,
You and I broke bottles
against dying trees
and found a melody
in the wasteland.

Everyday Is Here

Against the wooden bleachers
at the cricket field
I thought Iíd find you again.
By the Delta station
where the locals play dominoes
I thought I heard you call my name.
Down to Cadeís bay, the old manor,
past the prison farm
Iíve lost my way.
Iíve lost my way to you.

Afternoon Ferry

My chin resting on the white rail,
swirls and eddies all around
same as the ones in your eyes
This undulating, this jetting
moves with me the way we move
middle of blue, hurricanes in my ears
so clear I canít break
Finally, itís all so clear.
You are my currency, my art
You are my reason for love.

Glorious

Your eyes like a dark room
leading me through the corridor
cold walls, finding my way
in darkness that paralyzes, mesmerizes
in its glorious thickness
to a soul like a ribbon
begging to be untied
as it vines down soft skin.
And you wonder why
I canít look away.

Through My Fingers

You painted a sweeping mural in the sky.
We sat on your back porch
and watched it,
building memories
on things we never needed to talk about.
That night in the parking garage,
tears that fell off center,
hours of the dreaming game
where you slept and I always kept time.

Late Thoughts

Emerging from the screens
I remember you that way.
As I lay here thinking late thoughts,
you tunnel away from me
off into the distance
like vapor on a road at 4 AM
God, how I wanted to love you!

Books by Srijaya Reddy:

 

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