Issue 12
Only
Penelope Cray
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Only Years Ago
The sun set itself using the old silverware.
I got to thinking about the threads
in your blue dress as tiny rivers. The birds
wheeled their antique rides around the gleaming forks
and knives that framed the sun: an orange sinking
in the center of an oil painting
about a table and a blue tablecloth.
I went to the mailbox and pulled out your letter.
The pattern on the inside of the envelope
looked like our old place: the chaotic
wallpaper in the living room, the spells of vegetables
boiling in the kitchen, slicking the walls.
It was easy to pull up a chair on the lawn
and hang there like a car with all the doors open,
easy to lean back and watch our conversation darken
as the day grew peppery. I wanted to go home
but I was home.
~Penelope Cray
Penelope Cray is an Australian living in New York City where she
earns her M.F.A. in Poetry at the New School on a daily basis. Email.
© 2003 by Penelope Cray. All Rights Reserved.
© Copyright 2003 by Cayuse Press. All Rights Reserved.