blue.

she watches the envelope slide
into the mailbox
dirty blue metal, screwed down tight
she imagines the wind catching the paper
and she holds on between her fingers and palm
planning the path it would take

a paper airplane, an air stream
the romanticism of the pony express
pounding across the high plains but no,

just some tractor trailer rolling along
down a dusty highway
between cities, middle America

she climbs back into the car
a short drive across town to
find a hot cup of coffee
she will make it through the afternoon

Miles Davis playing
melancholy, chaotic poetry
with broken cadence, often
barely rhythmic

she memorizes the score
driving too slowly
studying patterns of shifting
Cirrus arrangements across the sky
the blue breaking through

© 3.14.12 heather brager