An unbroken blue-brown gaze
brightening
a dimly lit winter’s day—
spellbound, perplexed,
or simply intrigued—
as caustic wit,
Offset
by caustic wit,
joy-twisted still-frosted cheeks
into Cabernet-toothed smiles
where the paint-chipped Ceilings
and Mezzanines agree.
Shadow figures, braving sleet,
paraded past our ice-glazed windows,
ignored.
Maneless faces shimmered the tea-light’s gloom
as Xennial plight hovered hauntingly overhead,
begging attention.
It was a regular Salem ghost story, I suppose—
all past and no future—
that which impacts the present:
“Enchanté.”
Slow-cooked food cooled quickly—
the best meal is great conversation—
and the tab was couponed by history.
Outdoors:
slush-tired vehicles
traveled in intervals
both melodic and predictable;
our dovetailed forms sauntered carelessly
through snow-mounds six feet deep.
Thrift shop magnet sales—
Pumpkins in January—
purchased as momentos
of the prelude,
Happily Imitated.
Atlantic’s cool breath
whistled ceaselessly
through leaflessness.
But warmth was:
An Embered Embrace,
a nod of understanding,
a silent cemetery tale,
a puff of cigar smoke
imitating the sky.
And in the Commons,
under hanging white lights,
upon frozen pathways,
after the sun’s
low-lit sheathing,
I knew
the joy of a first performance.
Photo Credit: jaramillo.andream Flickr via Compfight cc
James Paraskevas
James is a former Bostonian who has been kidnapped by his nefarious wife, force-fed nutritional meals thrice daily, and lovingly coerced to live among the shire-folk in the land of Southern New Hampshire. He teaches English at the local high school when he's not petting his cat, eyeballing dusty books, or professing undying love to the aforementioned wife.
