And When She Sings(after Michael Ondaatje)
Her voicesounds like a spiderfigure skating across the lineoleum of a supermarket floorlike a kiwi fruit balancing a checkbooklike the underground susurration of an approaching BART trainjust before it arrives,
like an oven opening on a warm pizza,a scrub jay cashing a checka botanist falling asleepan expectant crowd leaning into a breeze
Like a freeway covered in milklike a parrot on Christmaslike a balloon filling with promises, gently,a hushed group of school children leaning on a rail to catch a glimpse of humpback whaleslike adverbs fresh off the treelike a cushion returning to form, a dog watchingthe evening news...
A bowl of soupawaiting the sprinkling of salt in the winter, or coarse black pepper in July
like the sound of ice cream, if ice cream made a sound,as if the melting in your mouth could make you lift your voiceand sing praises (Amen!) to the Lord, a bus transfer in a pocketa Tupperware lid sealed over persimmons.the sound of an angel crossing a prairie
like winter light falling on rushing waterlike shadows riding the current through the Golden Gatelike a zebra plant overflowing the rim of the pot on your dresser
like the smell of warm gingerbreadlike a comforting hand on your back
like the sound I heard that woke me from my napto discover your (ah!)soft breathingbeside me.
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