Buttonholes
Buttonholes of darkness fitted into the folds,
snow dropping in heaps to the naked earth,
these dresses of snow,
softening against sharp edges.
Night, she climbs to the precipice,
of hushed notes, there is landscape, seamless.
Cold burns a question in her throat
where truth runs rampant,
snow a lozenge, to suck on.
In the time of red carpets, we saw,
beyond frozen white heaps melting,
against factory candles (where he worked)
down the wax paper sky,
windows locked into bedroom.
The deep gold daughters burned through icicles,
breathing a poem.
There were others—some kids who explored the word never,
swapping forever.
Growing, we fly. We fly into being.
Their winding shirts, throbbing shirts softly struck.
Nymphs of the night.
Love, she puts on winter.
…..
This poem is from the chapbook Ponies and Other Poems by Cheryl Derby (Finishing Line Press), and can be found at https://www.finishinglinepress.com/product/ponies-and-other-poems-by-cheryl-derby/
Cheryl Derby was born into her family’s bookstore business. In her teens, she worked for her grandfather, and then at her mother’s bookstore. Her father and grandfather owned the Economy Book and Stationery store in Syracuse, N.Y. After graduating from S.U.N.Y. Geneseo with a double major in English and art, She owned her own bookstore in the Albany-Troy area of N.Y. for 35 years. Cheryl is also a visual artist and paints in watercolor, acrylic, pastel and oil.
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