View from 18B
By Emma Trelles
It is always the same constellation: the city
And its hopeful torches, a sky caped in wool and thorn.
Music of trains, music of copper wire humming fortunes.
What if the future arrived as a dark blade of wings
Slicing rooftops and the burnished maples below,
Each beak pointing to somewhere I couldn’t imagine?
What if the years descend as a moon, filling each glass
With cautious light? This window holds a face,
Almost detectable, a fading I am learning to endure.
This window a night I’ve scored for years.
It’s December in California and the leaves are still
Turning. I’m alive.
Originally published in the Winter 2016/17 issue of Santa Barbara Seasons Magazine.