B5
Public Record
Excerpt from novel: with Abandon

the entire spectrum of the Northern Lights,

the deep greens and almost purples
that exist only at the tip of the planet,
that would be the best way to describe
the hues of Her eyes
(and I’ve tried many).
but what use is there in talking about Her eyes
while She stands there, arms wet to Her elbows,
bellowing a makeshift song
and swinging a soap-dripping dish.
Her smile is wide and involuntary;
a seeming side-effect of Her mere existence.

a candlelit sun in the window,
the dull six pm flame of winter
throws colors all waxy and warm
across Her freckled cheeks.
The wall clock and the setting sun
race one another to dusk,
and between them Her hair glows auburn.

a plate in Her hand, She pirouettes;
calves tense and relax,
one knee held perfectly straight
with the other precisely angled,
painting lavender-scented suds
in a perfect circle across the hardwood,
making simple work of grace
while singing “the sink may be leaking
but the plates they are cleeean!”
and holding the plate over Her head
like tipping a rain-drenched top-hat
that’s spilling drips down the dips of Her neck.

with the driest part of Her forearm
She wipes a mix of sweat and suds from Her face;
involuntarily Her smile is wide
and, understandably, She’s out of breath.
i think but don’t tell Her,
nobody alive matters so much as You.
i think but don’t tell Her,
i want You all to myself, forever.

Frida Bilson