hello grace by Coleen Shin

what is lost with the disavowal of youth, the sickness of our twenty-one
as swifts through  doorways, music and ecstasy made rabbit this

and rabbit that, and what potion to make me small and bits of clothing fallen
the sweat licked from a troubadour’s hip ambrosial, a hotel shower curtain

the purest white ever known, the sludge on a stiletto heel, a mystery
to be solved by curious test, a sniff then cursed for its stench and tenacity

the city that would follow when finally we slept, amidst duck ponds
and limber wrists, invisible stamps that illumine by ultra violet lite,  a park

with that one dear friend reckless and innocent as I, curled as ivy around
the other for warmth and joggers and walkers and horse mounted policemen

simply watched over, rose white and rose red, the communal slumber
on a picnic blanket, two melodious,  snoring girls, recently from the sticks

mute in the light of  insane naivety kept  a hush,  kept their distance
from a tableau almost perverse spectacle but for the dozen white duck

that surrounded us with gentle bird bon mots, plump little cracker fed fowl
a shimmering guard that moved away when finally the sun fell full on our faces

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