She stayed seven years,
snow in snow out.
Listened to echoing jazz guitars and
shook broad doggy dog paws.
Dusted brains, almost daily, and
thought about trips to Ireland
the day after Valentine’s. Soon the hills
will come in in loops, she knows it.
Once, she was so thirsty she got bored.
Or was it the other way around?
She stayed seven years.
Preferred light shoes over dark.
The not overly demoiselle ones
(that is)
The ones of ethereal dancers
air-gliding
over the green space of imagined black holes
where usually
only dogs
dare to dance in a Degasian Pink
the very ones a diva would wear
to a Post Valentine’s dance
whooshing past all teenage galaxies
utterly eloquent and in your face.
Gerburg Garmann, a native of Germany, teaches German and French at the University of Indianapolis. Her poems and translations of poems as well as her artwork have appeared in various magazines and anthologies around the world.
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