Monday, April 12, 2010

Accord / Chorus Girls

by Zinta Aistars


I walk lunch hours, an office escapee,
snapping gum and pictures with my cell phone:
spring early daffodils, butter yellow, mustard golden,
drunken sunshine, tomorrow’s hope.
Lavender carpets of violets,
snug and close to the earth,
never far from their roots,
even while spreading over lawns,
under fences, beneath shrubbery,
between bricks, to emerge
like a purple haze
on the other side, uninvited,
knitting lawn to lawn,
block by block,
the one beauty bonding
neighbor to neighbor
who otherwise never speak.

Chorus Girls

Ruffled skirts tossed up
in flash and flair
over a slender stem—
a daffy flower, narcissistic flirt,
smearing a buttery dust
over glancing fingertips.
A golden floozy,
open-mouthed and lacy-lipped,
an invitation to throw all to the wind,
abandon all and everything:
work, home, family, friends,
to join a dancing chorus line.

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