The giraffes from the zoo move
in slower colors.
Their necks cream and grey
soggy paper cups that looked
this morning like half-hearts
beating under leaves.
Farmers markets are pale
behind her eyelids, faded
newsprint wrapping itself
around the synapses in
her brain. Honeycomb is light brown,
jam spreads like liquid paper
with globs of strawberry. It foams,
froths in her mouth.
We know the rubber bands,
little bits of trash. The chicken painting
on the wall. The wicker headboard pricks
like a rainbow porcupine.
The salty heat of coffee. The man
twenty stories down who crosses the street
with a cat on his head. No matter the smell
of the market, this morning is a
shadow of now.
Sarah; this is a really cool poem in that it brings about the shadowy, unpalpableness of the right now. Everything we did in NYC seems like it is so hard to pin down; even the pictures at the aquarium that we took can’t capture the way that watching the sea lions made me feel. How can we relive that echoing roar other than watching it through the pixelated world we have at out fingertips, constantly? I loved most your giraffe imagery because the giraffe was so willowy and that’s such a great way to represent time.
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