red booth
review

The inside of a palm tree on the sidewalk, deep 
mahogany of expensive furniture, scooped out, 
lustrous Hawaiian bowls, but it’s the arm 
of the tree detached and shining on the cement, 
fronds laid out like an upswept ponytail. It's hurricane
season--trees keep raining hard though the sky is light.
Pink flowered ones wet. A tree of lavender 
so tall and spacious inside, like an enchanted tree 
I pass beneath. One gray cat with gray eyes. 
The blue heron ran from me, slow at first, then kicked 
up, flew. The lake lit from two sides of sky, one 
silvery, one orange. I don’t go as far as Jack Kerouac’s 
street, the slight rain steady, & I’ve been stranded 
far from home before. All these homes, & none open. 
A bird sings, & for once I can identify the song 
with a particular bird, flying overhead, high in the sky, 
a clear, washed song. Terry said birds sing outside
my window so loudly because they’re getting happy 
that the sun is coming up. But there is no dawn on 
the horizon, just the moon & streetlights, the thin blue 
outline lighting a downtown bank missing a letter.

 - Kelle Groom