Poetry Issue 9

   Issue # 9: January-June 2008

Elizabeth Willis


      I is to they

      as river is to barge

      as convert to picket line

      sinker to steamer.

      The sun

      belongs to I

      once, for an instant.

      The window belongs

      to you, leaning

      on the afternoon.

      They are to you

      as the suffocating dis-

      appointment of the mall

      is to the magic rustle

      of the word "come."

      Turn left toward

      the mountain.

      Go straight until

      you see the boat

      in the driveway.

      A little warmer, a little

      stickier, a little more

      like spring.