It is a foggy, rainy day here in Turners Falls, much like the day I wrote this:
View from a Parking Lot
~Nicole Kapise Perkins
There
is a veil
Over
this forgotten village;
People
rushing to work, to school,
To
their mistresses and money.
Tearing
through the fog
They
don’t see the silver sun
Shining
through tree branches,
Parting
for black telephone lines
Like
lips for a kiss.
The
library glows
With
Carnegie’s halo
As
mist washes over its marble casements.
I’m
late for work.
I
want a camera to preserve the valley’s mist,
Watercolors
to immortalize its soul.
Art
isn’t for the living...
I
start the car.
I’m
off to brick and steel,
Glass
that reflects the mist
But
won’t let it in.
This
view is for me alone,
Lost
as I leave the parking lot.
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