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She asked for a breeze with the lights
by Angela CottermanI asked the driver to go
the Esplanade way
where rushed commuters
eager for home
or from home
boxed the taxi
into a toe-the-line lane
along the Charles.
Twilight had come
and fallen
into
rain,
but there was no rain.
Only the breeze smelled
of water salt and fish rot.
It was the river
that crumbled
the lights into a VanGogh
of orange red
pinwheels, dancing women,
and stars blown by the breeze. 10/25/2004 Posted on 10/26/2004
Copyright © 2025 Angela Cotterman
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