Poetry |

“Windsor Road”

Windsor Road

 

The house is cut into the hillside,

landscaped against erosion, flooding,

 

poolside furniture is upholstered

in black and white,

an ottoman, chairs,

an expanse of umbrella,

 

think Old Hollywood style.

 

Privacy is quiet, and a white labrador

dives in after a tennis ball,

 

it’s late spring,

air smells of mountain laurel,

of rain,

of coming heat.

 

Cypresses catch in the wind,

 

pomegranate cracks

bleeds crimson,

 

stains cotton shirts,

palms and lips,

tongues and teeth,

pinks the dog.

 

Rebar holds the trees in place

as the dog sprints a circle,

 

canine seraph,

water, always water,

Texas sky changing above —

 

all that I can say for sure

is that rain will turn the dirt to mud.

Contributor
Zoe Contros Kearl
Zoe Contros Kearl lives in New York. She is a graduate of NYU Gallatin and is currently an MFA candidate at Columbia University. Her writing has appeared in Kenyon Review, Hobart Pulp, Glittermob Magazine, Be About It Press, and elsewhere.
Posted in Poetry

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