Issue 16
Wing
Arlene Ang
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Death of a Windmill
Like grandmother mending socks
in a chair, the windmill towered
over grass, its sails a giant
version of knitting needles.
We played under the turning gaze,
fought games and rode bicycles.
Then a storm swept the field,
lightning snapped a vane.
That summer we began noticing girls,
learned to slick our hair, moved on
to drive-in movies with borrowed cars,
noses drunk on eau de cologne.
In time, folks say it's haunted.
We forbid our children to venture near
the broken wing overrun with daisies
as if fertilized by someone's grave.
~Arlene Ang
Arlene Ang has recently published her poetry in The Pedestal Magazine
and Drexel Online Journal. She has received a nomination from
VLQ for the 2003 Pushcart Prize. Email.
© 2004 by Arlene Ang. All Rights Reserved.
© Copyright 2004 by Cayuse Press. All Rights Reserved.