March ends in mist
from bluish to greenish grey-
I had a bizarre and perfect evening
whisked away, between dewey curtains
I vanished, into the bluish,
I got lost in a staircase
trying to find where the mist stopped
I couldn’t find the top

I was left in the milieu,
in its dredges I stumbled
to a park, there was a grapefruit there,
in the center of a dampened bench
comfortable, on its last day, its first day

the air was cold in a wet way
people burst out of the ethers
in neon shorts, bare legs
stark, staggering in greenish haze
to April, a goosebumped wink

an anxious boy and his white dog
passed me twice
in and out, in and out
I think I hear lawnmowers
leaf blowers, the crisp
unfurling of a tulips lip
caressed by its mist.

A man swaggered by me, he was laughing
tomorrow, the wind will be brisk
he mumbled, the sun will trick me
he cackled, and I forgot my lines.

The trees look red
in lamplight, in the cloud like veins, jagged, radiating through the eerie
the lamp flickers as I walk
the budding, skeletal leaves
draped in a hazy costume
are off on, off on,
I can’t blink-
only that evening could the trash can
glisten theatrically to cast
such a dramatic shadow.

Anna Sugrue