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
Copyright © Laurel Evergreen | Year Posted 2023
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