By: Amy Lerman
The air so electric, dancing to snow,
blurring space, rosed bushes, property lines,
our own desert view a faded tableau.
He films rising plastic as brown leaves blow,
and later they watch, their bodies aligned,
the air so electric, dancing to snow.
That movie’s an edit, just so you know,
you smile, shift front, submerse in screen shine,
our own desert view a faded tableau.
Feel my calluses, palms, just so I know
beauty you remember, icy bleached skyline,
the air so electric, dancing to snow.
Before orange blossom, creosote, haloes
we wore, fresh thoughts, soft lips, newly opined,
our own desert view a faded tableau.
Let’s float over river rock, pink yard’s glow,
shedding skin, sloughed bones, molecular brine,
the air so electric, dancing to snow,
our own desert view a faded tableau.
Amy Lerman was born and raised on Miami Beach, moved to the Midwest for many years, and now lives with her husband and very spoiled cats in the Arizona desert, so all three landscapes figure prominently into her writing. She is residential English Faculty at Mesa Community College, and her poems have appeared in or are forthcoming in Willawaw Journal, Stonecoast Review, Broad River Review, Radar Poetry, Rattle, Slippery Elm, and other publications. Her poem, “Why Is It?” was the inaugural winner of the Art Young Memorial Award for Poetry.