The Gateway

I remember the days before spring break being pregnant with buzzes Of stirring summer drafts that rubbed elbows with me in the museum, in that hotel in St. Louis Where his visage turned a new leaf of mine Where resting my head on his stomach brought forth a budding youth Which should’ve produced a flower But instead yielded a blister That burst and oozed pus mixed with blood A vile bile that flooded the city streets and dinner theaters A transformative storm that swirled into a hurricane And caused that hotel to rupture and crumble Down into a motel with a dingy room that I sleep alone in! His stomach is replaced with a pillow I share with no one My spring is gone, my branches bare No more soil for the flower to grow there Only concrete drafts that carry bitter winters Envisioning all things that could've been Makes my lungs engorged and distended With bruises left from where their cage be too tight But, the spirit of St. Louis still lives on Not within me, but at least above me My person from a different path reconciles with it At the top of the arch With the most perfect destiny in view And from there it waves Like a distant flag of peace A flag that reminds me that such things Were not of impossibility Such things were in my grasp And such things are still to come