Ally in Wonderment
Not nearly as bedraggled as my mind
remembers her, she stands underneath
the white egg-yoke sky.

In my head she's beneath the walking
bridge and rain is pounding all around her,
but she stays dry.

In my mind the gardenia's rise up
from the chinks in the sidewalk, pregnant
with bloom,

and she is trying on shoes;
these ones make her look too tall, though
these ones not tall enough,

and in a room somewhere someone is
unbuttoning her blouse, saying, button,
button, why so many buttons Ally?

A distracted spider crawls up her leg.

Our bare feet are sinking into the mud, and
a wild Manx cat skitters in front of the car
as we drive eastward, the palms of our
laughter slapping.

It is not,
though it is.

I always wondered at how she could turn
herself off, and prowl and paw her way
through a room.

How her lips took each sip of cold tea, how
it puddles inside her stomach, how she pissed
it out stinking of alcohol and accusations, burning
a little, though she became acquiesce to that, eventually,

standing as she likes too, not breathing, though I
was always there to reminder her to.

I watch her wander into her own wonderment
with just the right shoes for adventuring.