FROM MY OWN APARTMENT
Thickets of thorny brambles
climb a steep rise to the street,
and from here, an uncertainty
as to which plant each branch
belongs. I walk naked
room to room in moonlight,
a body past being wanted.
Light grey sky should drizzle
and be done. The stream within
the park, black-green, gives
an illusion of depth.
off-kilter like felled, helter-skelter
Sycamores in the park below: a game
with sticks children played, I
remember on a circular braided rug
and there was no real winner.
This poem is from the chapbook A SHADE I CANNOT NAME by Carol Traynor Mayer (Finishing Line Press), and can be found at https://www.finishinglinepress.com/product/a-shade-i-cannot-name-by-carol-traynor-mayer/
Carol Traynor Mayer received her MFA in Creative Writing from Lesley University in Cambridge, MA. Her work appears in Allium: A Journal of Poetry and Prose, Beltway Poetry Quarterly, and Saw Palm. Traynor Mayer is a member of Cambridge Common Writers.
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