A fountain lingers
in a square where
one small, bronzed girl
catches drops on her
slender fingers,
where they glisten
in the slow, dry heat
of noon, imaginary diamonds
set in tiny golden rings.
Birds swoop and dive, but
summer saunters, hips
swaying to the music
in her head, the dour sirens
banished with one vigorous
shake of spring
blossoms, petals falling to
the sidewalk, like a sweetheart’s
secret laugh.
Nearby, on a dappled bench,
an aging woman dreams of songs
she used to sing,
of willow roots submerged
by rising creeks,
and mud-encrusted cowboy boots
on sawdust-sprinkled floors.
Poetry flutters behind her
eyelids, toy boats twirl
among the clouds
reflected on the water’s
surface, and
the first cicada whirs,
one long note, old and strange.
(c) 2017, by Hannah Six
(Note: I cannot take credit for this lovely fountain image, which I played with a little to heighten the mood. Sadly, I've been unable to locate the proper source for attribution.)
