Their Silver-Purple Bodies
Spot on—the little immortality of the fairy nymphs—
Living like barrettes in your hair,
As you take them to school—even as you cannot figure out
What is happening,
And even as you shake out your long hair—
Even if the classroom is full of bullies, and the flea market
Underneath the overpass is filled with echoes—
This is your place:
All of the stewardesses are watching you and serving you
Drinkings—
As I think of the quieted places that must follow you home:
They are becoming more quiet,
As you become more forlorn—and the purple dragon-fly,
And the purple bowling alley—
And the purpled star in the sky hang over you like cousins—
It doesn't mean your safe—
Only that you can rest for awhile underneath the ceiling
Fans, to the grin of your Cheshire cats—
As the world of luminescent simulacrum spins around you—
Spinning, spinning—taking what is their's,
And with their silver-purple bodies, drawing what they know how.
poem by Bret R. Crabrooke
Added by Poetry Lover
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