I Am Not a Stanza
a room with a balcony.
I won’t be bounded
within a ceiling, floor, four walls,
I imagine a French door
glide over Italian tile lean
over the rail and know
the world is listening.
I trill words, notes no bird
has ever dreamed
dance around potted pansies
tickle the arborvitae.
Pausing when the hummingbird
preens on the wet holly leaf, shiny
as a mirror, I reach for its red
this is terrific… have a great day…
love it Shelda, the diction is elevated enough to do the mood justice but does not draw attention to itself, the variation in tempo, accent, and line length, all suit the inclusive ambiguity of the ending.
What they said. Scary poem, it’s so good!
Surreal and evocative! Love the questions provoked by the last line!
And I reach for the hummingbird’s red throat before I know what I’m doing!
four room that end with a Pulsing
“rooms” that is