My bare feet graze the trolley’s metal floor.
The apricot-flamed scarf
winds its way from head to toe, a cotton shield,
and tucks lightly around you: my silent, hidden
son. You are quiet and eager.
My eyes dart, diligent, from your eyes
to chin to forehead, tracing the well-worn
circuit of you. My gaze is only yours,
and you, my copper-gauzed world.
We sit in a row on the pressed wood bench: dolls
on a playroom shelf, our tourists queued up
outside the museum. Lost in thoughts and dreams.
The split seconds
between the now and the next
are frozen in frame--
your tongue darts back and forth--
your coo a small mewing--
we are unsuspecting
passengers for one moment more,
and then the seconds
will collapse into each other,
and we will follow.
Catherine Ruffing Drotleff
A non-profit fundraiser by day, and a poet by night, Catherine Ruffing Drotleff writes to place herself in the world and to observe that place over time and space. A Midwesterner by birthright and a Chicagoan by choice, Catherine's work has appeared in Rattle and Blue Hour Magazine.
The Ekphrastic Review
Find a writer, artist, or poem, etc. by searching here:
This website uses marketing and tracking technologies. Opting out of this will opt you out of all cookies, except for those needed to run the website. Note that some products may not work as well without tracking cookies.Opt Out of Cookies