The ground is hardening again after the long rain
and I feel stable enough
to run, hard and fast, cold air burning my chest,
with the dog just ahead,
stolen roses in my hands.
They are candy-cane striped, disgustingly pink and heavy
on their woody stems.
I'll put them in water, in a jelly jar,
place it on the countertop for you. Darling.
If I had nothing else to say, then this
could be enough. If I woke tomorrow, I mean,
and couldn't speak.
My flushed cheeks, brilliant with the shock
of winter sun, my flashing black boots, their weeks-old mud
flaking off with each stride, my breath,
the joy, no rain --
would be enough.
Katie Cappello lives and works in a small town in Northern California. Her collections include Perpetual Care, available from Elixir Press, and A Classic Game of Murder, forthcoming from Dancing Girl Press. Her online publications include Front Porch, Avatar Review, and the inaugural issue of West Goes South.