Brad Bostian
Arrogant,
sitting on her hands,
She said from across the vacant room
Just paint
me and go.
In the gyrations of the air,
Like a body dancing, like wind
Funneling up a chimney,
She was a witch, and all while sitting
In the
vague light, by the open window,
Her fingers growing longer.
And yet without moving she
plunged
Into the light I painted her by
Like a moth, not having
noticed
How poor and tired the light, or
That when the light was gone,
She would fold in upon herself
And yawn. Which she did,
Fighting her
body like the skeleton
Trying to get out, while the time
Passed slower
for her than for me
And her true eyes were hidden
From me, like rings
in black boxes.
